Rain On Me
by AngelLija
Summary: Sam came to town to find her sister, but what she found instead was the last thing she was looking for love. Please read and review!
1. The Heart’s Rain

Warning: This story has a little rape content (not much, and there is NO detail). The rape is useful for the plot and for the development of Sam's profession.

Michael was aged to fifteen in this story for plot purposes.

**Chapter 1**

Samantha McCall never expected to fall in love with only one sight. But now she knew what love at first sight was. Sitting by the table right outside of Kelly's diner, Samantha sipped a sip of her hot coffee while the wind blew at her hair and face. Her deep red leather jacked clung close to her body protecting it from the wild wind and the coolness that was approaching. It was way too cold to be late August, even for New York. The North Carolina girl nearly shivered as the wind blew again ripping past her spine. The sun was setting and the clouds were coming out. The clouds threatened, foretelling her of rain and she knew she must stand and go home to her new apartment which was on another part of town. But Sam didn't want to leave.

Her long black hair fluttered in the wind as she took another sip and watched as the people passed by. She was new in town and no one was a recognizable face. Tomorrow will be her first day of work and she felt nervous for it. She had already heard the case she'll be working on will be one of the hardest she could ever work on. She viewed the file and sure enough she wanted to run for the woods. The thought of failure crossed her mind but she refused to give into her doubts. She refused to think of getting fired and going back to North Carolina, she'd never go back.

All of her friends back in NC thought she came to Port Charles for a work offer, but that was all a lie. She came to find her sister. Samantha had always believed she was the daughter of the McCall family, until one day her mother told her she was adopted. A chill of hope and fear ran past her as she thought of finding her sister. How did they even know there was a sister? She took another sip of the coffee and got lost in her thoughts. It wasn't every day you come to a new city to find a family member you had never known about.

People passed past her but Sam didn't notice. A drop of rain fell on her deep red leather jacket and slid down the nonabsorbent fabric.

"It's starting to rain,"a blonde woman said as she walked quickly towards the little diner. "I'm gonna get all wet."

"Don't worry, I'll protect you from the evil rain," joked a tall blond man next to her. He wrapped his arm around the woman's shoulders and they both went inside. Sam's eyes filled with sadness as she thought of another reason she could never go back, the pain of lost love. She watched the couple walking through the door and a stab of jealously took her mind, but it was too early for her to date. Sam know she wasn't over the man she lost, she wasn't sure she ever will be over him. She knew he'd wish her to go on, but the fear of loving and losing again was too strong.

Alone in the approaching rain, Sam sat sadly looking at her cup of coffee. It was almost empty but she didn't want to finish it so soon, she didn't want to have a reason to go home. Home, so lonely and empty. Sadness filled her inside.

The door to the diner opened and two men walked out. One of them was a short Hispanic man whom she recognized from the newspaper while the other one was tall with dirty blond hair. She stared up at the tall one, he was hot. _This is no time to be thinking of men_, she thought as she tilted her head down. Tempted to look up, she felt heat around her.

"Yeah, I'll do it, Sonny," the tall man said as they walked past her. Sam looked up at the man as he walked away, she admired the way his butt looked in those jeans he was wearing. Sonny? Was that the name she saw in the newspaper? Or did she hear that name somewhere else? Sam wondered but knew an answer wouldn't matter much, it was the tall me she really admired.

With all her strength, Samantha pulled herself up and walked out into the rain.

---

The bright sun shined into her office as Sam opened the blinds. It was a new day and a fresh time in her life. A time where she felt she could start over. Her mind traveled back to the life she had in North Carolina. The sadness and the pain. Samantha took a seat at her desk and pulled out a picture from her purse. She stared down at the photo as a tear slid down her face. A knock on the door disturbed her silence and she wiped the tear away. "Come in!" she said as she slipped the photo back into her purse.

The door opened and a skinny 15 year-old girl appeared at the door. "Dr. McCall, your 9 o'clock is here."

"Thank you, Molly, let him in," she said and dismissed the young girl. Molly Arnolds was a high school student who was working off her community service hours for her graduation so she wouldn't have to do it her senior year. The girl left the room and a tall 15 year old boy walked in. He had sleek red hair and freckles. The boy threw himself on a leather couch and ignored her eyes.

Sam pulled out a file from her desk and opened it, taking a yellow pad from it she started to write. She glanced up at the boy, "Okay, tell me what happened when you were 8."

"It's not like you care," the boy shot back at her, anger in his voice.

Sam saw that this will be a hard case and jumped to another, more easier question. "What is your name?"

The red-haired boy looked up at her. "Are you that stupid not to be able to read it on your file?"

A shot of anger hit Sam, as well as amusment. She had always worked with troubled kids but this one was very disrespectful. She wanted to call him mother and tell her to smack some sense into him, but she knew from his attitude that he was too far gone to care. "I'll ask you again," she said in a calm, yet firm tone, "what is your name?"

The boy sat quietly and turned his head when he heard a knock on the door. Sam threw her pen on the desk and yelled, "Come in!"

The door swung open and Molly walked into the room. "Sorry for the interruption, Dr. McCall," Molly said as she walked closer to the desk and handed Sam some papers. "This just came in today."

"Thank you," Sam said as she took the files for her other case and shoved them in the desk. She sat up and watched the boy as he looked at Molly. His face reddened a few shades and his aloof position was now tense and nervous. Molly turned, walkingout the door, and Sam saw the boy smile at her, giving her a devilish grin, trying to show off how cool and in control hewas but Sam noticed shyness in him. Molly snuck out the door and the boy turned his attention to Sam. "You like her don't you?" Sam smiled.

"She's 'aight," the boy said and leaned back further onto the couch.

"I'd prefer more proper English," she said as she wrote something. "Now what is your name?"

The boy shifted a little in his seat. "Michael Corrinthos."

Sam knew they were making progress, the boy wasn't ignoring her anymore. She wrote somethings on the yellow pad and looked back up at Michael. "So tell me what happened when you were 8?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," he shot back at the speed of light. His body became tense and anger spiked in his voice. Anger, hate and regret, maybe?

Sam knew she had to take a different approach. On her yellow pad, she scribbled a few sentences and looked up at him "Tell me about your father."

"He's a cool guy," Michael said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his lap, interlocking his hands and fingers together. "I love my father, he cares for me and treats me like an adult, despite his anger problems which surface if you get him pissed enough."

"And do you get him pissed enough?"

"Yeah, like all the fucking time. That's why I'm here, cause I fucking piss the shit out of him everyday and now he wants me to straighten up."

Sam knew she was making progress with the boy. "Now tell me about your other father, you're biological father."

The boy get tense again and anger burned in his eyes. "I don't wanna talk about him. He's dead and that's the end of it."

"How did he die?"

Michael stood up from the couch. "He was fuckin' murdered!" he shouted and left the office.

Sam felt like she failed, her biggest fear was coming closer, she hated failing and didn't take it lightly. Getting to her feet, she walked around and out of the office. Molly was sitting by a small desk and doing her high school homework. "Have you seen the red headed boy running out of here?"

Molly looked up from her studies and smiled at Sam "Yeah, he ran full speed in that direction." She pointed to the right and Sam started walking in that direction. She managed her way outside and looked around the parking lot.

"Lookin' for me?" a voice sounded behind her and Sam turned around to face Michael Corrinthos. He was leaning against the side of a black Mercedes. "Sorry I had to bail on you. It's just that I don't want to have to fucking answer everyone's questions."

"Answering questions will help you deal with your issues," Sam informed him.

"I'm dealing my own way, I don't need nobody else's way to deal with my fucking shit."

"Michael, apologize to this nice lady right now!" a man behind her shouted firmly causing Sam to turn around. The man she saw last night outside the diner was starring back at her. Sam's pulse began to beat faster as she stared into his blue eyes. "I'm sorry for his behavior," the man said, "He needs a lot of help."

"No I don't, I just need everyone off my fucking back," Michael said and climbed into the car. "Let's go, Jay."

"And stop calling me Jay," the man said to Michael, it looked like he was at the end of his rope with that boy. The man turned to Sam and smiled. He extended his hand. "I'm Jason Morgan, Michael is my best friend's kid."

"Samantha McCall." Sam shook his hand. "And we only let children go home with parents or legal guardians."

"Sonny, Michael's father, has arranged it that I could pick him up," Jason said and smiled at her.

Sam admired how firm and in control Jason was about the situation. "Yes, I remember reading that in his file. You can take him."

Sam felt the man's attraction towards her, and she couldn't deny feeling the same thing, but it was too early for her to feel. She stared at Jason, unsure of what to say to get him to leave.

Jason looked at the doctor and felt an attraction, he admired her looks and he wasn't the type to let a good think slip by. "Hey, you look like you're new in town."

"I just moved here a week ago," Sam said, afraid of what he might ask next, she wasn't sure she could resist.

"Maybe I could show you around town sometime."

Sam knew she should say no, "Yeah, that would be nice." Her own answer surprised her.

--

It was late and the mental health offices were all closed. Molly Arnolds walked through the park to get to her home. An eery feeling filler her senses and she knew something will go wrong. Her parents never gave her the time of day and she didn't want to go home, but there was nowhere else she could go. She thought of the boy she was at Dr. McCall's office. The red-headed guy who had a huge attitude. Molly knew he was the biggest jerk on earth but she couldn't get his face out her mind, he wasn't even that great looking, but there was something about him, something she liked.

A step cracked behind her and Molly turned around. The sight ofa dark haired man lurked at her and she felt fear rushing up and down her body. She knew the man and was scared off him "What are you going?" her voice shook as she had asked it.

"I'm just making sure you get home fine," the man smiled and she felt an urge to run away.

"Please leave me alone." She trembled.

"Now what kind of man would I be if I left a pretty young girl like you alone?" the question wasobviouslyrhetorical.

Molly turned to run and a large hand gripped her arm. "Let me go!"

"Never!" he shoved her to the ground, laying down on top of her, he pinned her, keeping her hostage.

"Noooo!" she screamed as he ripped off her shirt. She tried to stuggle with him, fight him, but he was too strong. The man ripped off her bra and squeezed her until her skin turned red. Molly felt her blood pumping faster and as heripped her pants, she dug her nails into his chest and scratched, fighting her way out of the situation. She turned her body towards the ground, digging her nails into the soil, she pulled herself out of his grip.

The man grabbed her ankle and pulled her closer, moving her body under his, he felt her fears and screams, but her screaming didn't bother him, it pleased him. He loved torturing. The man stuck his penis inside her, moving fast he broke the sacred seal, Molly was a virgin, no more.


	2. Rain of Attraction

**Chapter 2**

The doorbell rang and Samantha rushed to answer. Sticking her dangling earing in one ear she yelled, "I'm coming!"

"Hi," Jason spoke once she opened the oak door. He extended his hand which held a bouquet of red roses. "Sorry, I'm just a proper guy when taking a pretty lady out."

Sam found herself blushing a bit as she took the roses. "I like proper guys, so no apology needed." She moved aside to let him in. "Come in, I just have to put these in some water."

She made her way into the kitchen and Jason fallowed. Glancing around the penthouse apartment, he noticed just how neat Sam was. Everything was in its place and stored away. He admired women who knew how to clean.

Sam turned on the faucet and pulled out a vase from the cabinet. Letting the water run into the vase, she stuck in the roses and placed the vase on the kitchen table. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Jason said, his hands in his dress pants pockets.

"I'll just grab my coat in case it gets cold later," she said as she lingered towards the closet in the entrance room. Grabbing a deep red leather jacket, she opened the door and they both walked out.

Heading through the halls and doorways, they managed their way outside in silence. Sam nerviously looked at him and tried to remind herself that this was wrong. The thought of the man she loved filled her mind but she refused to cry in front of this attractive stranger. They walked through the parking lot to Jason's black Mercedes where he opened the passenger side door for her.

"Thank you," she spoke in awe, she always admired a man who knew how to treat a lady.

He walked to the driver's side and got inside. "No problem," the answer was a little late but it was better then nothing at all.

The night sky was clear and Sam found herself looking up at the stars while Jason drove.

"I know some great places here in Port Charles. What do you like to do?" He gave her a brief glance and turned his attention back to the road.

Sam looked down from the windshield to him. "I like a lot of things. I like great food, great wine, dancing, reading, the list goes on."

"What kind of dancing?" Jason smiled as he asked the question.

"It really doesn't matter," she said, "I like all types of dances, but I findsalsa to be fun and sexy."

Jason's smile grew wider as he stopped at a red light and faced her. "I know a I great salsa bar. It's a little outside off town, but it's close enough."

Her mind was saying no. She would never go outside of town with a man she only met, but her heart disagreed. She pulled her purse closer to her body as she thought of the pepper spray which she carried in case of unfortunate events. Her heart was saying she wouldn't need it but she liked to be careful.

"So how was Michael today?" out of the blue, Jason asked pressing the gas peddle as the light turned green.

"He was a little more talkative today then yesterday." Sam wasn't sure why she was telling him this. Evidently she was violating the patient/doctor confidentiality agreement.

"Yesterday, he has seen you for the first time, he must have been a little unconformable opening his soul to a stranger," Jason said as he accelerated at speed above the provided limit.

"Yeah," Sam said as she remembered the whole conversation with Michael and the things that were bothering her.

_The door to her office opened and Sam looked up from her desk. _

"_So where's the chick?" Michael Corinthos asked closing the door behind himself. "I don't see her today."_

"_She didn't come to work," she said while placing the receiver back on the phone. _

_Placing himself on the couch, he said; "Was that her parents you were taking to?" _

"_Sorry, that was confidential." She pulled out a yellow pad from her desk and began scribbling words. _

"_That's cool. I don't give a fuck. It's just that the chick is hot, man." Michael threw his backpack on the floor next to his feet and sighed._

"_Ready to begin today's segment?" Sam asked pulling out her yellow note pad from her purse._

"_Yeah, why the fuck not?" Michael all of the sudden became withdrawn and aloof. _

_Sam glanced down at the yellow pad and wrote a few things, she then looked up and glanced at the young man. "Tell me something about your father." _

"_Sonny is my father. Jay could be my father. DON'T get me started on my real father. I hate his ass!" Michael yelled with frustration in his eyes. _

"So he's still calling me Jay?" Jason chuckled.

"I guess it will not be easy to change that." Sam put in her professional opinion.

"I tell him everyday that my name is Jason and he still doesn't get it," he said as he turned a corner onto another street. "He only started calling me Jay after his real father died."

Sam sighed. "Can you tell me something about Michael's real father?" she asked the question which has been bothering her ever since she first saw Michael.

"How much do you know?" Jason's blue eyes gazed into her.

"Not much, except that he's dead and Michael is reluctant to talk."

"Michael's father is my brother. He's manipulative and sadistic and quite insane."

"And who killed him?" Sam suspected the answer but didn't want to believe it. In the file, it said that Michael became a troubled boy after his father's murder, but it didn't say anything about a killer.

"Michael himself. He wanted revenge." Jason spoke pulling into the parking lot. He looked at Sam and noticed the surprised but not shocked face. He could tell that she suspected the truth all along, but it was still a surprise to her. He got out the car and walked around to her side. He opened the door for her. "Try to enjoy tonight. Don't think about work."

She got out of the car and silently, they both walked into the club.

--

"Wanna dance?" Jason asked pulling her onto the packed dance floor. Many couples were dancing to the up-beat Latin song which was played by the DJ.

"With pleasure," she said allowing herself to be pulled by his touch.

They got to the dance floor and he spun her around, their hips touched and he placed his hands on her buttocks. Sam leaned backwards and threw herself towards him, her hair dancing wildly around her face. Jason lowered his hand down to her thigh and she lifted her leg, rubbing it against his leg. He felt her smooth lotioned skin and wanted more of her touch. His heart leaped in his chest and the rhythm of the music set his mood to the dance. They lingered together sexily on the dance floor. Their hearts beat as one and their breathing got intenser. Sam pushed her head closer to his, feeling his breath on her skin they leaned in and a soft touch of lips collided. The kiss got deeper and tastier as their sexy dance continued and their tongues did a double take. Electric passion linger through them.

"What was that?" Sam asked, out of breath, when they finally pulled away to get some air.

"Chemistry." Jason's voice was sexy and it turned Sam on more then she ever expected anything to.

--

Sam opened the door to her apartment and walked in. She threw her purse on a small end table and hung her jacket in the closet. Still dreamy eyed over the kiss, she leaned her back against the door and took a deep breath. Still being able to taste his lips, she imagined kissing his again.

Tears formed in her eyes as she remembered the man in the picture. Sam pulled the small photo from her purse and looked at it,."I haven't forgotten about you," she spoke, wiping a tear away.

The phone rang in another room and she stuck the photo in her purse. Samantha walked to her bedroom and grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hey, sweety," her mother's voice rang loud and radiant. "How's the new job?"

"It's great." Sam's tone was withdrawn and her mother sensed it.

"What's bothering you, sweety?"

"Nothing." Sam signed into the receiver. "It's just that I'm still not over Jeremy."

"I know, sweety." Mrs. McCall's voice filled with sadness. "He was a great boy and he's truly missed."

"I know, mama," a tear flew down her face. "It's just that why did he have to smoke? Why did he have to die?" she recalled the painful departure but forced the memory out.

"I'm sorry, sweety. You know you could always come home."

"I don't wanna come home. I don't want to go through the park where we met, or the carnival where he purposed. I don't want to see the store where I got my wedding dress and I don't want to be near the hospital where he died, just minutes before we were to say _'I do'_," Sam cried into the phone. "Mom, I really don't want to talk right now." She hung up the phone and wiped the tears from her eyes but they didn't stop flowing.

_I have to be strong_, she thought to herself as she tried forcing herself to stop thinking of the death. Sam grabbed the newspaper from the end table near her bed and read the headline.

Model Brenda Barrett signs deal with Victoria's Secret

She stared at the picture of the woman, the woman who looked like her. The woman who could possibly be the sister she was searching for.

A knock on the door forced her to put down the paper and she walked to the door. Readjusting her skirt and wiping the tears away, she opened it.

"I have no place to go," cried out Molly as she stood in the doorway. Her pants were ripped and there was blood on her finger tips. Her shit was dirty from soils and ripped to shreds. Her private skin exposed for all to see, Sam understood what happened.


	3. Rain’s Indecision

**Chapter 3**

Speechless, Sam stared at the girl she had met not too long ago but already had gotten used to. Molly was a great help and was always a kind spirit. Now watching the girl shattered and broken made her brake inside, and that was why she became a psychologist in the first place.

All her life, Sam had watched kids and teens go through troubles. Rapes, drugs, murders, gangs, and other dangers tugged at the young citizens and terrorized their every day lives. Sam decided at a young age she didn't want the shattered to stay that way. Working hard, she managed to get into the only med school that would accept her and so she got her doctor's degree. Glancing at the girl, old memories filled her mind and no longer Molly looked like another statistical child whom she helped. Now the tragic sight looked familiar, too familiar.

"Come in," after a confusing silence, Sam finally spoke out firmly and gently as she opened the door wider and moved aside.

Molly stood still. Her posture frozen, she refused to move. Was it fear? Was it confusion? Was it uncertainly? Sam sure as hell didn't know. While rape was nothing new too her, in fact her first case was a rape, but with experience she learned they weren't all alike.

"Who did this to you?" Sam spoke the words slowly in a calm and low voice, keeping every touch of gentleness in it.

The red-head shook her head and her tangled hair didn't really move much only adding to the look of the damage.

Sam took an uncertain step closer and Molly slowly backed off. "I won't hurt you."

Molly's eyes stared into her as if trying to figure out the comment as truth or a lie. From the gesture, Sam was able to tell the girl was attacked by someone she knew. Maybe even someone she trusted. Her coming to Sam, someone she barely knew, gestured for a fact it was someone she trusted. Family member? Friend? Teacher? Neighbor? Friend of a family member? Classmate? It was too hard to tell as the possibilities were grand.

"I won't hurt you," Sam repeated in a firmer tone as she extended her hand. Now it was up to Molly to either take the hand and allow someone to help or run and hide. And Sam sure as hell wanted Molly to take her hand. To surrender to help of the one to whom she obviously came to.

For a long silent moment, Molly stared at her. Reading her, trying to figure her out. The trust for all of man kind was gone. Then slowly, with a shaking hand, Molly gripped Sam's hand and surrendered. "Just please," she cried out as a sudden burst of tears stained her face. Her complection turned red and her eyes reddened too. "Please don't let them hurt me."

"Shhh." Sam tugged at the girl and pulled her half naked body closer to herself and she closed the door. Still holding on to her hand, Sam opened her coat closet door, which was at hand's reach, and pulled out a zip-up grey sweatshirt. Draping the sweatshirt over Molly's shoulders, Sam brought her closer to herself and gave the girl a warm hug. After all, it was known that something as simple as a hug can be great medicine for someone at such a tender age as Molly was. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

Molly's body was as still as a tree log. Once Sam let the maternal and protective embrace come to an end, she met the girl's tear-stained eyes. "We need to get you to the hospital."

"No." A new set of tears dripped from her eyes like water falls. The rain drops of tears slid down her bruised cheeks.

"We have to. We need to get the DNA of the rapist off your skin so we can get the bastard and send him to jail."

---

Jason sat down on his lonely couch and sighed a deep sigh. Still seeing the way Sam's body moved with his on the dance floor, still hearing the sexy Latin beat of the night, still tasting the sweet kiss of her lips. That experience wasn't too out of the ordinary, he had kissed many women before, but damn this one was different. Her lips were softer, her body more seductive, her spirit more pure. There was something about her. Just the thought of her made him miss her, he wanted to call her and talk to her at that moment, to kiss her again. Hell, he would settle just for hearing her voice.

Refusing to feel so love struck, Jason got off the couch and walked over to the mahogany mini bar which stored the alcoholic beverages. The mini bar was packed to the fullest with drinks of all kinds. All expansive and some even rare. He wasn't a big drinker but to flush the seductive desire tugging at his body, he had to drink. He kneeled and opened the decoratively designed doors of the mini bar and shuffled through the drinks. It was packed with a drink of every kind. Everything from rare Italian champaign to cheap Russian Vodka, and Russian Vodka was strong as the devil himself.

Jason was a strong son of a bitch too. Born into a shity family of doctors, he was a weak and innocent child. That was until a car accident which changed his whole life. After that, the weakling became a brain damaged criminal who wasn't afraid of a gun. In fact, the gun was his true friend. He pulled out the bottle of the Russian Vodka he bought last month when he was in Moscow dulling out a war with another mob family. After pouring the drink into a shot glass, he brought it to his lips. '_A drink to forgetting her for this moment,_' he thought as he drank in one large swallow. The Vodka burned like a blazing fire inside his mouth. The fire moved down to his body and instantaneously he burped. The drink was good but he wasn't sure he could forget her or stop desiring her from just one shot. He needed more, to at least contain his desire until a more suitable time.

As the liquid poured into the shot glass again, a knock on the door erupted. Jason put the bottle down and stared at the half full shot glass. Should he drink it now or after answering the door? Changes were, Carly came asking for help or advice, and God the woman was persistent. At the thought of her, he considered drinking half the bottle just to shut her off and her naggingness. But it might not be her.

It was possible his ex-wife, Courtney, came requesting help. They split for many reasons; too many differences, too much stress, she couldn't deal with his lifestyle, but mainly because she couldn't get over the loss of their baby, and therefor she never looked at him the same. Jason didn't blame her for losing the baby. Sure, he was hurt, but he didn't really know about the baby until it was too late. But he also didn't blame Lorenzo Alcazar, no matter how much he wished he would blame him. If Lorenzo would have known of Courtney's pregnancy he wouldn't have kidnapped her, but he only found out once she became captive and by then he would have been stupid to let her go.

Other possibility would be his mob boss friend, Sonny Corrinthos. Though Sonny usually called before coming, occasionally he would show up, especially if there was a chance that Jason might have a lady over. Sonny was a sexoholic who had the record for having the biggest amount of mistresses. He would sleep with anyone who had a hole, sort of speaking. So, whenever Jason might get a little lovy dovy, Sonny's jealousy would make him politely interrupt and order Jason to work.

Jason walked over to the door while trying to guess as to who it could be. He was still thinking of that half full shot of Russian vodka as he opened the door.

"Hey, Jason." The blond Courtney Mathews stood in the doorway.

Jason didn't even say anything. He simply moved aside and let her in. Marching in, she plunged down on the couch and stared at Jason as if waiting for him to ask her what's wrong. "What's wrong?" he asked but sure as hell didn't want to find out.

---

"Can you describe what he looked like?"

Molly's eyes glared with fear and her lips tightened at the question. While Sam would have been delighted to hear the answer herself, she didn't want the officer to damage the child even more. It had probably been less then twenty four hours since the rape which made it way too early for her to talk about her attacker with someone she didn't know at all. "That will be enough questions."

"How are we to find him if we don't know what he looks like?" The officer stood up from the chair and looked at her disapprovingly. "Where are her parents anyways?"

"Here they are," A woman said as she stood behind the officer. Sam recognized the red haired woman to be Molly's mother. Her mother's face was angry and fearful at the same time. She rushed to her daughter's side and hugged her. "Why didn't you come home? I was so worried about you. And the damn police department doesn't file missing peoples reports until twenty four hours passes," she said as she glared angrily at the officer.

He ran his hand thought his thick black hair. "I was only following procedure."

"Bureaucrats," Molly's mother barked.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Arnolds, but I would like to ask your daughter some questions and I'd prefer to do it alone," the tall officer said as he crossed his arms across his chest and stood strong waiting for everyone to leave the hospital room.

"If you want to talk to my daughter, you'll have to do it around me 'cause I ain't leaving," Mrs. Arnolds barked again.

The officer looked defeated and sulkily sat down in the chair and repeated his previous question, "Miss Arnolds, could you please describe what the -."

"Officer Spencer, I told you to stop asking that question," Sam said strongly and fiercely as all eyes flew on her. "You don't want to harm the girl even more."

"It's procedure. I'm only doing my -."

"Fuck procedure," Mrs. Arnolds said as she tightened her arms around her daughter's shoulders. "What did the doctor say? Assuming there was a doctor," she asked looking at Sam and completely ignoring the goody-2-shoes cop.

"Yes, there was a doctor. She, Dr. Meadows, took a sample of skin from under her finger nails for a DNA analysis."

Mrs. Arnolds gave her a weak smile as if approving of the doctoral act but still feeling crappy about the unfortunate incident which had forever damaged her daughter's life.

At that moment, the door opened once again and Dr. Meadow's walked in with a small plastic shot glass of water and a pill. "Drink this," she said as she handed it to Molly. "This is the morning after pill. You are supposed to drink it within twenty four hours after a rape to prevent pregnancy."

Molly looked at the pill. Should she drink it? Her irrational and overly emotional mind didn't know what to do. She stared at the pill which was conveniently placed in her hands. If she were already pregnant, could she kill an innocent child? Fuck, her rapist killed her innocence when he took her virginity, why the hell shouldn't she kill his? But the child wasn't all him, it was also a part of her. But what if she wasn't pregnant? Could she take the change and throw the pill away? Molly was attacked by morality and she really didn't know what she should do. Should she...?


	4. Let It Rain

**Chapter 4**

Sam watched as Molly stared at the pills as if the answer to her personal morality laid in them. But no answer was found. She hated watching the young girl go through such terrible pain and decision.

Glancing at Mrs Arnolds, Molly's mother, Sam saw the pain written on the woman's face. She looked tired, her face was drawn out and pale as if it were one of her most stressful days.

"Mrs. Arnolds," Sam addressed her calmly and the woman glanced at her with the same green eyes that gave life to Molly's face.

"Please call me Glenda," she said and forced a weak attempt at a smile.

"Glenda," Sam repeated and had to admit she liked the name. "Can you give me some time with Molly? Alone."

Glenda stared at Sam for a moment, and her expression was a mix between anger and confusion. But as she glanced at her daughter and back at the shrink, her expression turned to one of understanding and she nodded. "Take all the time you need."

Once the room was empty, Sam kneeled down next to Molly and glanced up at the girl who was in a daze by the pills.

"I don't know about this," Molly finally addressed her concerns. "I don't know how I feel about killing a child."

"There might not be a child," Sam explained. "It's just a precaution." She took in a deep breath and tried to remember the rape conception statistics. When the accurate information surfaced in her mind, she spoke, "Pregnancy resulting from rape is a 4.7 percent chance. You may belong into that number, but you may also be the other 95.3 percent."

For the first time, Molly's eyes trailed away from the pills and glanced at Sam. With tearful green eyes, Molly blinked a few times and opened her trembling lips to speak, "What are the chances of a woman getting pregnant. . ." she trailed off, as if in deep pain, as if getting ready to reveal a deep secret. "On her first sexual encounter?"

Sam felt a small twitching of rage attack in the pit of her stomach. The bastard rapist took this girl's innocence away, and Sam felt hatred at that. What kind of man could do that? What kind of sex starved fuck could even consider it?

But from her intensive studies, she knew there were more reasons then sexual starvation that men raped. Actually, sexual starvation was one of the least likely reasons. The need to abuse, to posses, to control someone were the most common reasons.

Turning her attention back to Molly's question, Sam said, "I don't know. But it's not that common for a woman to get pregnant on her first try."

Molly nodded and turned back to her pills, still in her hands. "What if. . . What if I'm pregnant. If I drink this, will I be committing murder?"

"Terminating a child of rape is not murder," Sam corrected.

"But it would be killing, wouldn't it?"

She wanted to lie. She felt every nerve in her body scream at her to lie. But she also knew that Molly wasn't stupid, and that she knew the truth. Sam didn't want to loose the trust of the girl, so she confessed in honesty. "Yes."

"What about other options, like adoption?"

Sam thought about them for a moment. She had, in her years of child psychology, suggested adoption in many cases. "Adoption is a good option," she explained, "You won't be killing a child, and you would be giving him or her up to a family that will provide the child with love."

"Yeah, but I heard that a lot of adoptive parents are abusive to their children. That they love their biological children better."

"That's fiction," she corrected. "In truth, adoptive parents provide the child with just as much love, sometimes even more, then the biological parent."

Molly glanced upward, as if the answer to her decision would be written on the ceiling, but it wasn't. She sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes as tears popped out from under thick, wet lashes. "What did I do to deserve this?" she finally cried out, her voice shuttered with pain and short gasps of air.

Sam felt her lungs burning, her heart set ablaze. Really, what did the girl do to deserve such foul treatment? What did any rape victim do to deserve that? Nothing. That was the answer, but it was one that proved to be useless. The illogic of rape didn't make it go away.

Sam stood up and sat down on the chair besides Molly. Slowly, she extended her hand and wrapped it around the girl's shoulder, giving her one to cry on.

She was lost for words, unsure of what to say, but she also wanted to break the silence. The silence bothered her, it scared her at the moment, it brought her pain and empathy, compassion. And to break the silence, she spoke the words her mother had told her when she was going through a hard time. She had found it that the words were helpful, at least for her. "Problems are like the rain," she compared. "They come, all at once, all threatening, flashing like lightning, banging like thunder. But then they go away, and the sun comes out again. And for a while, you just can't stop the rain."

Molly glanced up at her.

"Nothing rains forever, and your problems and troubles will resolve in time. You just have to let it rain and try not to get too wet."

For the first time that evening, Sam saw a small light lit up inside of Molly's soul. She smiled a weak and painful grin, an embarrassed nervous look. And then she pushed the cup of pills away. "If I'm pregnant, I want to do the adoption think." She glanced into Sam's eyes with her green ones. "Will you help me?"

"I'll help anyway I can." And she would, she'd help with everything she had. Sam felt empathy for the girl, as she felt empathy for all her patients. But she had met Molly before her troubles sailed in, and she liked the girl she met.

---

Courtney crossed her legs as she sat on the couch and glanced at her ex husband. "I need help."

Jason didn't say anything, but that didn't surprise her.

She glanced at him, his confident but tired posture, his messy hair, his intense blue eyes. She had loved him once, shared a life with him once. But their lives went different ways. She needed a man who was ready for a life as a husband, and he wasn't ready to give his life as a mob enforcer away. So they split.

She had moved on. She and Jax were happy, at least for the moment. And she hoped that Jason had moved on too, though she wasn't sure since he never opened up and was damn mysterious. Despite being over him, she still cared for him. Cared for him like she had cared for a good friend. And she was glad to admit that despite the bitter divorce, they were still friends.

"It's about Carly?" Courtney finally said and watched as Jason rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his neck as if to relieve tension.

"What else is new?" he asked sarcastically.

"She's moving in with Lorenzo and Sonny isn't happy."

Jason didn't respond, which in itself spoke volumes. He thought it was all old news.

Courtney continued, "I can't believe she would want him. She keeps going back to him, even though he is with Skye now."

"I won't pretend to control Carly."

"I know." She glared at him with her mystic blue eyes. "But Alcazar killed my baby, he almost killed Carly's baby. Skye is pregnant, and Carly is a stress factor. It would be really tragic to see yet another baby die because of that imbecile of a man."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Jason asked impatiently. "Kill him?"

Courtney wasn't proud to ask, but she did anyways. "Yes. Kill him."

A flicker of rage burned like eternal fire in the cold eyes of her ex-husband. His lips pinched up to a thin line. His hands clenched into fists that were so tight, his knuckles turned white. He stared at her, glared at her. And she knew from experience that he wasn't a man with a short fuse. Actually, Jason Morgan was the most reasonable and patient man she had ever met.

A slight panic struck Courtney and she rushed to stand up. It wasn't the first time she had seen such aggression in him, such anger he cold kill with one look. It had happened a few times before, but each time was so brief she didn't bother telling anyone. But she worried about it.

The first time she had seen such a sudden mood swing she did research on it, but it was no use. There were thousands of psychological disorders that had the same type of symptom, and it was nearly impossible to narrow it down to one problem.

She had let it go the first three times she had seen him act that strangely, but on the forth she confronted him. She wasn't stupid enough to confront him while he was in the aggressive mood, but as soon as he had snapped out of it, she had talked to him. He claimed it to be stress, and refused to seek psychiatric help.

Courtney hoped he would realize it wasn't stress. She did her studies on stress, and she knew that such behavior was something else. She hoped he would realize what it was and go to a doctor.

She had heard about the new doctor, something McCall, who was now in town. She hoped Jason would go to her. But as she even thought about it, a spark of envy engulfed her.

She was over him, she told everyone including herself. But she knew that if he were having intimate conversations with another woman about himself, she wouldn't be happy. So she lied to herself about it being over, when she indeed wanted for him to never get over her. But Jason's health was declining, and she didn't want to risk it by allowing her pride to take a bigger stand. So, she made a mental note to herself and contact this new doctor and arrange for Jason to meet her. She just hoped Jason wouldn't fall for her.

Staring at him, she noticed how the aggression faded quickly as if nothing had happened. This time, the aggression was longer then all the other times, but it was over. And as if nothing had happened, he said, "I'll have to discuss it with Sonny."

---

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	5. Angry Rain

**Chapter 5**

It had been a week since Samantha's date with Jason Morgan and the tragedy to Molly occurred. And the whole week she hoped to receive a call from Jason but he had not called. She was disappointed, but she wasn't surprised since there was an average for a man between a week or two to call after a date, there was nothing new about that. But today she hoped she would see him again. Today was her first appointment with Michael in the week. Actually, today was to be a big day for her. After her appointment with Michael, she had to address a problem with a woman named Courtney Matthews.

As the door to her office opened, Sam glanced up from her appointment book and glanced at Molly. The 15-year-old girl no longer looked as the same one as she did before the incident. Now her hair was still red and curly, her figure was still petite, and her eyes were still green. But unlike before her eyes were no longer lively. Now the girl looked as if she was mourning a life she has lost.

"Hey," Sam said with a warm smile on her face. Molly's response was less than enthusiastic, she looked as if on the verge of tears.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked as concern grew heavily on her soul.

Molly shrugged. "Do you have a few minutes?"

Sam nodded.

"I just wanted to talk."

Sam pointed to a couch and indicated for Molly to sit. Once Molly walked over to the couch and sat down, Sam asked, "What's on your mind?"

Molly sat and breathed in air and let it out slowly, dragging out the moment of suspense. "I went to the doctor's today," she said after a long moment of silence.

Sam wanted to start asking questions right away but knew it was best not to push the girl. After all, Molly that come to her about this.

The redhead glanced around the room avoiding Sam's eyes. "I went for a pregnancy test," she said so quietly it was barely audible.

"When will you be getting the results?" Sam asked

Molly shrugged, barely moving her shoulders. "They said today or early tomorrow morning." She breathed in again, letting it out slowly. "And the results for the HIV and STD test will come back next week." As she said the last word, her voice trembled. What looked like tears filled her eyes. Slowly glittering, the tears fell softly down her cheeks. Molly wiped her tears and gave Sam a look of heartbreak and fear. "I'm scared," she whimpered.

In med school, she had been thought to detach yourself from her patience. As she stared at the girl she knew she couldn't turn her heart off and give the girl a cold shoulder.

Molly, her hands on her face and crying softly into her own palms. Sam was taken over to fight, the urge to destroy the bastard who did this to her, she wanted him to pay with all there was. She wanted to fight with all she has to give.

"I don't know what I did to deserve this," she cried softly.

Sam stood from her leather chair and walked over to where the girl sat. Placing a hand on her shoulder, Sam said, "You didn't do anything."

Molly glanced up at her through wet eyelashes and her lips trembled as she spoke," I must have done something," she cried out, "I must have done something to deserve this."

Sam knew all the signs and for the most part she know how to deal with them. Running her hands softly down Molly's shoulders and arms, Sam spoke in a gentle voice, "You were, and are not, guilty in any way."

"I must be," the girl sobbed. "I heard that for every bad thing that you do you get a bad thing in return. I must have done something very terrible."

"You didn't do anything," Sam said, "Please believe me," she pleaded with the girl. "The only guilty party here is the guy who did this to you."

Outside the room a commotion of noise was ringing like a furry and Molly lifted her head and wiped her eyes. Glancing at Sam she said sincerely, "Thank you. . . Thank you for being there for me."

Sam didn't know how to respond. At the moment she was lost for words. She was speechless. All she did was stayed there and do her job while the girls came to her willingly and explained her fears or her thoughts. Sam couldn't take credit for something she didn't do. But she didn't know what to say. And after a while she opened her mouth and spoke softly, "I'm just glad you came to me," she said.

Molly stood from the couch and ran her hands down her jeans. "I gotta see what's going on there," she said and walked to the door.

As soon as Molly had walked out, the door had opened again and this time Michael walked into the room.

Sam had to admit she was surprised by his behavior. He no longer seemed to be upset or mad about something. Instead, there was a look in his eyes, he looked happy. "Hello, Michael," she said with a smile which he returned.

"Hey that Dr," he said enthusiastically and sat down on the couch, or rather he slouched on the couch.

Sam opened up her drawer and pulled out the current case file. And she pulled out a yellow notepad from it, she grabbed a pen and prepared to write.

"Why are you so happy?" she asked with a smile hoping not to madden him or send him into a phase of anger.

"I. . . don't know." Michael shrugged.

"I'm glad to see her being happy."

"I am. . . happy," he said and smiled. At the moment, he looked like a five-year-old kid who has just heard the greatest news in his life. His happiness was amazing, but she sensed a nagging feeling that something was hidden beneath.

She tried to get some information out of him to learn more about him. "How was your day at school?" she asked in a parental tone.

Michael smiled. "It was great," he said and was so happy he was almost shouting. "At first I hated. . . that so much, now I. . . absolutely love it."

"I'm glad you enjoy it," Sam said, "So specifically, what are the good things about school?" she asked

Michael's smile was unchanged but he didn't give an answer and took Sam by surprise.

"So in what grade you are now?" She asked.

"Freshman in. . . high school," he said.

"Do you have any friends that you hang out with?" she asked making conversation while looking for an angle.

"Yeah," he said. "I have a. . . lot of friends. . . And my home life is great," he said as if sensing she was going to ask that question. "My parents are no longer. . . arguing, or at least not that I can hear them. And everything seems. . . to go be going fine."

"You get along with both your parents?" She asked.

He nodded.

"What about your biological father?" She asked hoping not to send him into a phase of anger again.

"There's not much. . . I can tell you about him," Michael said. "All I really know. . . is that he died while recovering from a back injury."

Sam smiled as she wrote it all down on a sheet of paper and then she glanced up at the boy, and waited for him to continue.

Michael did indeed without much encouragement. Not this time at least. He opened his mouth as if to speak. And the words fell outs mostly. "I never had a good relationship. . . with him," he said without her having to ask.

"Why not?" She asked.

"He wasn't such a great guy," Michael informed.

"What was wrong about him?" Sam asked hoping for an honest response, but Michael just shrug. Nevertheless, she was making improvements with the boy. But as she looked at her notes and remembered his odd behavior and a frown came upon her face. She hoped they were making improvements, but maybe he was denying it. Anyway, she knew she had to investigate and find out.

---

After her talk with Michael she had hoped to bump into Jason in the parking lot as he came to pick the boy up. But unfortunately, it was his father who came this time.

He extended his hand and smiled at her, two perfect dimples illuminated his face. "Hi," he said in a manly tone. "I'm Sonny Corrinthos"

She had seen Sonny before, on the evening outside of Kelly's, when she was sipping her coffee and he walked by with Jason Morgan at his heels. Even at that first sight she was infatuated with the blond man, but now at close distance she knew that dark man was handsome to. She took his hand into hers and smiled as he pressed it. "Nice to meet you."

"It's a pleasure to meet _you,_" he said emphasizing the you.

For a few minutes they discussed Michael and his sudden behavioral difference. Sonny seemed to be happy that his son was happy, so Sam didn't show concern for his behavior. But deep inside she knew she was going to research that. She just found it highly impossible for somebody who had an attitude from hell going to a happy little kid in a matter of one week. Something was wrong with that picture.

Once Michael was picked up and out of her hair Sam returned to her office and waited patiently until a few other patients came. After that, she had her meeting with Courtney Matthews.

It was close to seven o'clock when the door opened and a blond haired woman strolled into the room. Sam didn't recognize her but since her seven o'clock appointment was Courtney she assumed this to be the woman.

The woman strolled into the room and Sam stood from her leather chair from across her desk and extended her hand. "Courtney Mathews?"

The woman nodded and took Sam's hand, squeezing it in a business grip. "I'm glad you could see me on such short notice," she explained.

"I could always make time for a troubled child."

"But this isn't about a child," Courtney corrected as she sat down on the couch, the same one her patients sat on.

"I know," Sam said as she closed her appointment book and put it into her drawer. "This is about your husband?"

"Ex-husband," Courtney corrected softly but she didn't sound to be too mad about Sam's false indication, which meant to Sam that the woman still held a soft spot for her ex.

"What's the matter?" Sam asked, hoping she could dispense advice easily without having to hit the books and do research. But for that matter, she pulled out a diagnosis book from her drawer of mental problems for kids and young adults. "But please remember I might not be able to help. I specialize only in child and developmental psychology."

"I know," Courtney said. "But all the other doctors I went to refused to talk without a written consent from the person in question. They said they didn't want to give a false diagnosis on my remarks."

Sam nodded in understanding. She too had wanted to turn Courtney away for those same reasons, but she wasn't the ethical doctor to do all by the book, so she decided to go against her educated judgement and see the woman and to give her a piece of mind.

"My ex," Courtney began. "He's. . . He's having these strange lapses in his behavior."

Sam listened but when Courtney didn't offer anything, she asked, "What kind of behavior is he displaying?"

"He's normal, most of the time, but then little things sometimes send him over the edge and he becomes fightingly agitated. But it passes so quickly you could barely see the behavioral changes."

Sam listened and thought it all over for a moment, and then decided she needed more information. "Has anyone else seen those same symptoms or have only you seen them?"

"No one else has mentioned anything so I assume it was only me."

"What kind of temper does he have?"

"He's a patient, if not distant, man."

"And does he ever have a short fuse and blow up?"

"If we were talking about my brother I would testify to that," Courtney said with a weak smile. "But we're talking about Jason and he's never blown up over anything."

Sam remembered her date with Jason Morgan and wondered if he was the same man Courtney was talking about. Probably not. After all, Jason wasn't a unique name, there could be millions of men with that name. Never the less, she remembered the dancing and the hot kiss she and Mr. Morgan had shared on that date. And afterward, he hadn't called.

"It's unusual for Jason to get mad quickly," Courtney offered the information.

Sam didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to offer the woman that would be of any help. Finally, she decided to state what was on her mind, "Is it possible that what you have said has angered him and he gave into the anger before letting it subside?"

Courtney seemed to be mulling that over in her mind before she spoke, her voice low and skeptical. "It's possible, but I don't know. . . It just doesn't sound like Jason to get angry. Especially at me, I haven't done anything."

"Maybe it was something you've said?" Sam asked, and she was almost sure that was the case. Anger by itself, short anger, wasn't something to worry about. It wasn't something that she would worry about. Not yet, anyway.

---

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	6. Stroke the Rain

**Chapter 6**

It was cold outside, not that Michael noticed. He walked through the soft patch of grass, the shortcut to the doors of the public school.

Before he had been a student at a private school, but his shitty behavior had managed to get him kicked out. And now, now he was enrolled in a public school and he liked that better. No snotty teachers getting into his business, no stuck up boys. And there were girls here, many of them. Some were so slutty there were rumors they had orgies with twenty men in one night. And some were so innocent, there were rumors that they were untouched, unkissed, waiting to be broken and destroyed.

Then last week, rumors started that one girl, previously untouched, had been raped. He hadn't seen the girl, and since they say the girl was shy and a loner, no one knew her name either. Or those who did weren't associated with Michael, so he only got the rumor about the girl who got raped and didn't show up to school.

Rumor around said she was pregnant from the man who used her. Another rumor was that she beat the shit out of him as he tried to rape her. Then there was a rumor that she contracted HIV from him. And yet another rumor said that the rapist killer her and her funeral will be in a few days.

He, however, didn't care. It wasn't like he knew the girl. And though the news was sad and all, he was truly happy besides that.

As he was walking, Michael noticed a glance of the red head girl from Dr. McCall's office. Molly, was that her name? Molly, he mused inside his mind. That was a pretty name, boring but pretty. It had a ring of innocence to it. He could totally imagine a serious girl with that name, definitely not the name of a hooker or slut. But then again, weren't names deceiving?

He smiled as he approached her, small steps leading to the girl who was walking slowly with her head down.

Molly was wearing a thick sweatshirt that did nothing for her beautiful hair and her jeans were ordinary. For somebody that pretty, he really expected her to dress better.

But then again, maybe she wasn't pretty. Maybe it was his eyes playing tricks on him? After all, for the last week everything looked good to him. He was so happy he felt intoxicated.

"Hey!" he yelled out when he reached the girl and she turned to face him, a sad look in her eyes. "Molly, right?" he asked with a smile as he fell into step next to her.

She nodded.

"What's wrong?" he asked but showed no concern. He was just so happy, so happy it was sickening.

"Haven't you heard?" she asked bitterly.

Michael shook his head and he loved the feeling of wind blowing at it as he shook it. "Heard what?"

"I thought everyone had heard about it. I've been. . ." she stopped as if the words were too painful to say out loud. Molly stared ahead, her eyes looked at something and nothing at the same time. She was as if in a trance, a distant memory.

"What happened?" Michael asked and smiled like a fool. God, he was happy.

Tears slipped out of Molly's eyes and she glanced down at her own feet.

At the moment, Michael assumed he realized what happened. "You're the girl who was raped, right?" He asked with the same emotional affect that he would show toward a winning lottery ticket that was in his hands.

Molly glanced at him, with bitter distaste and sadness in her broken gaze. "There is nothing funny about that!" she shouted unintentionally.

He looked at her, at her broken eyes that lead into a tormented soul. He knew that his heart was supposed to feel the ribbons of regret and compassion, yet the smile didn't flounder. He couldn't, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wipe the happiness away. And as he stared at her, he couldn't find the words to speak, because he couldn't connect or understand anything except his own personal high. And he loved the high. He loved the feeling of a drug flowing through his system.

But there was no drug. . .

---

Sam sat at her office and said goodbye to her patient. As the young girl left the office and joined her parents outside, Sam put away her file for that person and pulled out her appointment book. She had an hour for lunch and she didn't intend to miss out on that opportunity. As she stood from her leather chair and walked to the coat rack in the corner of the office, she grabbed her red leather jacket and put it on. And as she was about to slip her purse onto her shoulder, the office phone rang.

She contemplated not picking it up. It would be so easy to leave and leave it unanswered.

_I tried to call you, but you didn't pick up. I needed you, and just like everyone else, you turned away. _

The memory flashed in Sam's eyes as she remembered the last words her first patient had ever said to her, and she felt her heart squeeze into a ball of burning fire. Fire of pain.

No, she couldn't leave without answering, and when the phone rang for the fourth time, she snatched the receiver off the hook, instinctively assuming it was one of the children she was hired to help.

"Hello?" she asked as she hoped and prayed that nothing bad had happened.

It was silent on the other end, and she felt her heart beat faster. Was something wrong? Obviously, why else would the caller be silent?

But then, the voice that spoke chased all her fears away. "Hey," Jason Morgan said.

Sam felt herself smile and placed a hand on her chest, letting go of the breath she didn't even know she was holding. "You scared me there for a minute."

"Me?" he asked a little surprised. "Why would I scare you?"

"I thought you were one of my patients with bad news about something."

"No," he said calmly. "Do you get patients calling you with bad news?"

"Occasionally."

"Want to talk about it?"

_I tried to call you, but you didn't pick up. I needed you, and just like everyone else, you turned away. _

No, she couldn't tell him that. She couldn't tell him when she didn't know him all that well. So instead, she changed the subject, "I didn't know you were going to call, I was almost out of my office."

"Really?" he asked. "Where were you going?"

"Out to lunch."

"You're on your break?"

Sam sat on the edge of her desk, her smile still on her face. She loved hearing his voice on the other end of the phone, and she wanted to know more about him. "Yeah, on my break."

"Then how about you go to Kelly's, the little dinner across the street from the hospital, and I'll meet you there in a couple of minutes."

She smiled to herself. "Sure, okay."

They shared goodbye's and hung up. The smile still hadn't left Sam's face, and she was happy about that. It had been a while since she had smiled, and it felt good. Strange how a phone call from him made her happy like a silly little school girl during her first crush. But damn it, Sam felt like a silly little school girl who had a crush. A crush on Jason Morgan. And that in itself could present her with problems.

---

The Rapist sat in his car, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his lap. He was a man, a man like any other, with a healthy thirst for sex.

Well. . .

Some would accuse it of being unhealthy, but not to him, never to him. He refused to accept the concept that his sexual habits were anything but healthy.

He watched the red haired girl as she walked around the basketball court. It seemed like her class was participating in physical education, but she wasn't playing. She stood there, with her hands wrapped around her body and shivering from a cold fear.

He remembered the night he had shared with her. She had screamed in pain, but he knew she felt pleasure. Didn't all women? He watched her, thinking about how much he had enjoyed her, being inside her. He wanted more of that. With other women, with her. He didn't care with whom.

No. Not with other woman. Not with anyone. With her. Only with her. He wanted to repeat the night, repeat it over and over again. And while the Rapist was stuck in his memory, he felt something smooth and sweet stroking him, pleasing him. For a moment, he assumed that his memory for her had caused him to remember the feel of her, but then he realized he was stroking himself.

He stared at the girl, stroked himself, and imagined it was her doing it.

---

Sam walked into Kelly's and searched for an empty table. As she sat down, a waitress came to her. "Hello, would you like anything to drink?"

"Coffee, please," she said as she looked up at the young woman. "And I'm waiting on someone."

The young woman gave Sam a menu and smiled as she walked away.

Sam already knew what she wanted, so she didn't bother using the menu. Instead, she opened her little appointment book and glanced at what she had planned after her lunch break. The list was long, and if any psychologist got to see her book they would say '_you're avoiding life and relationships by plunging into work. That way, you can avoid emotional confrontations and healing._' But as a shrink, she knew that already. Still, besides being a doctor, she was also human, and she was entitled to feel, or to shut down her feelings.

_Aww, the irony_, she thought bitterly. All her life she had been advising people to open up to their feelings and there she was, blocking them out.

After her lunch break, she had five appointments with patients, then she wanted to have an hour to chat with Molly. Then, she wanted to retrace her roots by doing some investigating into her adoption. She knew where she was adopted, but she wanted to go to that agency rather then talk over the phone. By then, she knew it would be late and she'd get back hope with the intention to sleep. It was the perfect plan, at least for now.

She was so busy checking her plans for the night, the next day, the next week, that she didn't notice Jason's arrival.

But when she heard the waitress ask if they were ready to order, she glanced up. Jason was smiling at her as if he knew something. The look in his blue eyes spelled amusement, and the way he looked took her breath away. He was a handsome man, his hair dirty blonde and his eyes the most beautiful blue she had ever seen. Those lips, that she couldn't take her eyes off, were calling for a sweet nibble of her own. And instantly, she imagined her mouth being taken prisoner by his. If it were to happen, she wouldn't object.

"How long have you been sitting here?" she asked.

He glanced down at his watch. "Four minutes, almost five. . . No, make that five."

She grinned and chuckled. "How come you didn't interrupt me?"

"I tried, you didn't hear me."

From the corner of her eyes, Sam saw the young waitress roll her eyes back into her head as if bored out of her mind. So, instead of continuing with small chat, she glanced up at the waitress and ordered. "Chicken Club with fries."

The waitress turned to Jason and he said, "garden salad with ranch."

Once the waitress left, Sam raised one eyebrow. "A salad? Is there something I should know about you?"

"Like what?" he asked, keeping the same lightheartedness that engulfed him.

She shrugged. "I just find it odd that a man would eat a salad."

"What's so strange about that?"

"I'm just not used to healthy men."

"So what did you're ex's eat?" he asked and she felt suddenly uncomfortable.

There was a great rule of dating, don't discuss old loves. But maybe that rule was meant to be broken. After all, all marriage counselors advise to open up about failed relationships. So, she answered, "I've only dated one guy in my whole life and he ate typical cop food."

Jason looked a little surprised and she wondered why. Was it because she had only loved one man?

"And what is typical cop food?"

She smiled, and decided to give him a little piece of information she learned back in a mental health magazine. "Did you know that food can tell a lot about you?"

"No, can it?"

"Sure can," she answered with the same tone of flirt that he had used with her.

"Then what does the type of food I'm eating say about me?" he asked.

"That you're either a business man, an attorney, or a high-end criminal."

The look on his face registered surprise and she wondered why.

"And what is your opinion about criminals?" he asked, his face still lighthearted but his voice serious.

So what had brought on that change? Sam, of all people should have known. But she didn't. "I think criminals should be put away. They are a danger to the society and they are practically useless."

Jason took a hard sip of his coffee. "Yeah, same here," he said dropping the topic.

The waitress came back with their food and placed the salad by Sam, probably assuming that the woman would be eating healthy. Wasn't that one of life's cliches? That woman ate healthy, were pretty and perfect, and annoying at times. And that the men were junk food, beer bellied hillbillies who weren't incapable of even changing the oil. But life wasn't black and white, there were shades of grey and other colors that made life vivid.

Sam handed the salad to Jason while he gave her the chicken club and fries she had ordered.

As she popped a fry into her mouth, Sam gazed into Jason's eyes, and he seemed to have shut down. No more of that lightheartedness he had showed moments ago. However, she wrote it off as paranoia.

"So how's Michael?" Jason asked. "I hear he enjoyed his hour with you."

Sam nodded. "He was in a good mood yesterday."

Jason took a fork-full of lettuce into his mouth and she wondered why he ate that. In her view, lettuce was tasteless. After eating the bite, he said, "I'm glad he's better. Seems like you're a great doctor."

"Not great," she corrected quickly, in one breath. She wasn't great. Her first case was. . .

Jason looked up at her, meeting her gaze. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she answered and took a bite of her sandwich.

His eyes were still searching her. "Is it about Michael?"

Sam wasn't going to tell anyone about what she observed in the boy, since she was still testing her observations, but she put the sandwich down and broke a rule in the process. "What I tell you. . . Could you keep it between us?"

"Yes."

"Because I'm violating the doctor/patient confidentiality agreement."

He didn't say anything, but his eyes were urging her to continue.

"I think it's odd that he went from agitated and troubled to unbelievably happy." She breathed in deeply. "I mean, I'm glad that he's happy, if he in fact is happy. But I find it odd that his mood changed in one week from dark to light."

Jason was thinking, she could tell that by his eyes, they were lost in thought. "Now that you mention it, I don't remember seeming any balance. I believe that if a person goes from a dark mood to a light one, there's a phase where they are just balanced, like in a transition. I didn't see that in him."

"Exactly," Sam said and took another bite.

"Do you think he's putting on a happy mask to fool everyone? To make everyone believe he's happy when instead he's devastated?"

"That's what I first thought when I saw him last night. I'm still holding on to the hypothesis, but I can't rule out other things."

"Like what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. That type of behavior can be a symptom of more then a hundred things."

As they were discussing that, Sam noticed the same officer who was in the hospital trying to talk to Molly. He had entered the diner and was looking around when his eyes connected with her own.

Jason, as if noticing her distraction, glanced in the general direction and then back to her. "You know him?"

"Met him last week, he was trying to get information out of this girl who got raped."

"And how are you involved?"

Sam shrugged. "The girl works for me, and she came to me when it happened."

The officer walked over and Sam tried to remember his name. But damn, she couldn't. It had seemed to slip her mind. What was it? Spender? Spinder?

"Hey, Spencer," Jason called out to the man.

Spencer, that's it.

Officer Spencer looked at Jason and then at Sam. When his eyes were on her, he asked, "Do you think I could talk to Miss Arnolds about the rape?"

Sam remembered how at the hospital she fought him off claiming he could damage the girl by making her recall it all that soon after it happened. But now, since a week has pasted, he had less chances. "Yeah, you could call her. I think you have her mother's number in your file, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"So why did you come to me," she asked, not understandingly.

"Because you're a child and developmental psychologist so I wanted to get your permission. I don't want the girl in more pain then she already is in."

Sam nodded. "You could arrange it that her mother or someone she trusts would be there with her when you talk to her. It would make her feel safer. For now, she needs the feeling of security." After thinking for a moment, Sam remembered how the girl had come to her first. "On the other hand, I want to be there when you talk to her."

"And when can I talk to her?"

Sam pulled out her appointment book from her purse. She opened it to the day's date and looked for an opening. There was the whole six o'clock hour but she was busy at seven and she knew the interview with the cops would take longer then an hour. And besides, she wanted to talk to Molly herself, alone just the two of them. She wanted to prep Molly for the cops questions. She wanted to give the girl a sense of security. But as she turned to the next day, she realized her day was full, and the day after that, and after that, and after that.

"I'm waiting for an answer," Spencer said impatiently.

Sam turned to the next day's page again and looked at it. She had to reschedule a few things in the evening, which she could actually manage. "Tomorrow at seven thirty, how's that for you?"

"Works. But do you know about Miss Arnolds?"

"I'll talk to her about it today."

---

**Author's note: **I know right now the story seems to be going nowhere (romantically and plot wise) but I promise, it will change. And I added the little scene with the rapist to show just how sick his mind is.

I want to thank the people who take the time to review, it really means a lot to me. And to be nice, I decided to answer the questions some reviewers have posed, so here it goes:

_I wonder who attacked Molly?  
_Molly's attacker will be revealed later in the story. It will be one man out of three candidates. All of the men are contract characters on the show. The man's identity and the fall out after it will definitely impact Sam and her personal problems.

_What is wrong with Jason that he hasn't called Sam?  
_I've seen many writers write that men only get angry or scared for the life of the woman they love. Many writers forget all about the other emotions that men could feel. So I decided to play around with it and make it that he was nervous. Though he hadn't confessed to it yet, he will in a later chapter.

_What's with Sam's sister?  
_I haven't forgotten about that part of the story, it will definitely have a lot of impact on Sam's life, and on the relationship of JaSam.

Hope you all are enjoying the story and please review.


	7. More Rain Before the Sun

**Chapter 7**

After much thinking and considering, Jason decided he wanted to learn more about the woman he had grown attracted to. First, he wanted to find out about the little tidbit about her loving a cop. So, with him intentions being in her past, he went to Stan's and sat next to the man as they both ran a background search on Sam.

"You do know that it's not going to be fast and easy to find information about her?" Stan asked.

Stan was a short man, for a black guy that was. If he were white, some would consider him tall, but since his father was a basketball player and his mother was tall as well, Stan was considered to be a shorty. His dread locks were just below his shoulders and sometimes he looked like a Jamaican, minus the accent. And actually, he was part Jamaican, on his mother's side.

"I know," Jason said and leaned back in his leather chair. "I have all the time in the world."

"This order from Sonny must be urgent," Stan remarked.

Stan, like Jason and other men, was an employee of Sonny Corrinthos. He was the private investigator of the business. He ran background searches on future employees and background searches on his next targets. He was a use to the mob boss, a greater use then some would imagine. If it weren't for Stan and his ability to hack into police computers, Sonny and Jason would be long behind bars. It was he who always warned them when the cops were on to them, or when a new mob boss was coming into town, or when an old secret had been discovered. But besides finding information, Stan showed talent in hiding it too. On multiple occasions he hacked into the police database and erased some of the evidence, causing the district attorney to have an incomplete case. And if a case was incomplete, it couldn't go to trial and win.

"It's not for Sonny," Jason said. "It's for me."

He thought about the woman, her smile, her hair, her eyes, the curves on her body that were begging for his tender touch. Or did she even like it tender? Maybe she was animalistic? Maybe she wanted to be ravished and treated like a strong warrior rather then a princess. He wanted to learn all about her. But he knew that information wouldn't be in the database, so he settled for what he really needed to know, at least for now. He liked talking to her. Out of all the people he knew, talking with her came naturally. It was strange, normally he didn't indulge in conversations with anyone, but with her he did. It was like she knew how to get into his mind, his heart, his soul. He wanted to know her more, know her better. And with that, he realized that his attraction for her was more then sexual. Sure, he wanted to roll in bed with her, but he also wanted to know her too. He felt something for her. Something he didn't want to identify just yet.

But then again, he also wanted to preserve himself. She had once loved a cop, couldn't he track her down and claim her like a prize? And if he could, wouldn't he come into contact with him and try to take down Sonny and the whole organization? If Jason knew cops (and he did) all of them were dreaming about the promotions attached to ending organized crime. And what then, Jason would loose. But he would loose more then her, possibly his freedom if he was sitting behind bars.

"So what exactly are you searching for?" Stan asked as he put his typing fingers on the keyboard, the background search site already up and the little slash blinking, indicating that something needs to be typed in.

"Samantha McCall."

"And who is she?"

"Michael's new doctor."

"She's a shrink?"

Jason nodded. "Yeah."

Stan grew confused. "Why would you investigate something like a doctor? Without Sonny's orders at that."

"Someone," Jason corrected.

"What?" Stan asked, a confused grin formed on his face.

Jason looked at the man for a moment. With the blinds drawn and the only light in the room was coming from the next room and from the computer screen, Stans face blended into the dark background, and only his eyes stood out. Big and confused, but open to speculation. "You said she was something. She's a person which makes her into someone. One, person. Thing, object."

Stan rarely ever rolled his eyes, but now he did. He had to. Jason's explanations of proper speech and grammar was more then annoying, especially since Jason never followed proper speech rules.

"I don't see nothing wrong with that." Don't, nothing, double negatives. Wasn't that a speech and grammar mistake? Sure it was. But Jason didn't catch on to it, he didn't correct it, and Stan was confused as to why he did it earlier.

"So why are you searching her?" Stan asked.

"To get a feel for what kind of person she is. I want to know about her past."

"Bullshit!" Stan remarked and looked at Jason. "What's the real reason why you're searching into her past?"

Jason glanced at him. Stan had that look in his eyes, that look that he always had when Sonny or Jason mentioned a woman. That look that said; _she's got you hot and bothered, right? _"She used to date a cop. I want to know if he could try to claim her back. And what kind of cop he was."

Stan turned to the computer and clicked on one file. Jason saw Sam's drivers licence photo and information flash on. It was her New York licence.

She looked great in the photo, and Jason couldn't help but notice the sad look in her eyes. It was a look that was begging for someone to hug her, hold her, love her. And instinctively, he wanted to be the man to do those things. To hug her, hold her, love her. He couldn't help but notice things about her. Things that left him wanting more.

But damn, he couldn't fall for her, he'd never fallen for anyone before at first sight. He tried to convince himself that it wasn't love at first sight. But damnit, it was.

"She drives a Toyota," Stan remarked. "That indicates that she's got money, but she's not rich. She has no tickets, accidents, or other traffic violations. But then again, she only got her New York driver's licence three weeks ago."

Jason absorbed the information and then asked, "Where else has she been driving?"

Stan looked for more information and then said, "Charlotte, North Carolina."

Damn, there was an FBI headquarters in Charlotte. Maybe her ex wasn't a cop. Maybe he was a fed?

"In Charlotte, she drove a Benz."

So okay, she had money.

"Once again, she's a careful driver. No tickets, no accidents."

Stan pressed a few more buttons and the screen flipped to one of addresses. "Right now, she lives at. . ."

"I know where she lives," Jason interrupted.

"In Charlotte, she lived in a house owned by a Jeremy Kyles, an Officer with Charlotte PD."

"What kind of officer?" Jason asked.

"Vice."

Fuck! Vice dealt with organized crime and drug enforcement.

Jason's eyes grew larger and he glanced at the screen and at the information, he scanned it over with his eyes and tried to ignore the thumping in his heart. The jealousy and sadness that filled him, and of course the threading of regret that spilled like red wine thought his blood. He regretted what he learned. What he and Stan were both reading, but neither had commented on it yet.

"Looks like she moved to Port Charles the same week that she buried her lover," Stan finally broke the silence and his voice was low and sympathetic.

"And she started dating me the week after." Jason knew that there was no way she had moved on so quickly. She was just using him to dull her own pain. And normally he wouldn't mind, but damn it, he wanted to heal her completely. He didn't know where those feelings came from. He'd never felt like that before. He's never wanted to really heal a woman before, until she came along.

"Looks like you might be a rebound guy."

---

Sam had talked to Molly about the approaching questioning with Officer Spencer, and while the girl did throw a tantrum and complained that she wasn't ready to discuss it, Sam had informed her that the more the cops knew, the more likely they were to find the guy and save other girls from a similar fate. With that in mind, Molly had agreed. With that out of the way, or at least post poned until the next day, Sam had time to trace her roots.

Now, Sam was sitting in her car, right outside of the agency where she had been adopted. She breathed in sharply and looked at the dark sky, it was starting to rain, a light drizzle whirled on the windshield of her car.

The lights were on in the one story building of white brick and evergreen window trimmings. The green door opened and a woman, elderly and tired, looked out in both directions, before her eyes settled on Sam's car.

She knew the woman was waiting for her, to talk to her. Sam had the appointment for a few days, she had thought about what she'd ask, and now she was too afraid to go inside. Her life, her roots, her past, her future depended on this. And the only thing that she knew was that Brenda Barrett might be her sister, the famous model might be a relative.

_She flipped thought the bridal magazine. The pages of women dressed in white, the flowers, the shoes, the gowns, the happy smiles and the promise of bright dreams fulfilled._

"_I like this one," Sam said to her mother as she pointed out a picture of a gorgeous white dress. A tube top with a ballroom skirt that formed a Cinderella style gown. "And I think Jeremy will like me in it."_

"_He will love you in anything," her adoptive mother said as she stepped closer and glanced at the picture, but she didn't hold the same lovely gaze that Sam had. Her eyes were those of mystery and thought._

"_What's wrong, Mama?"_

"_That model," she said and placed one finger on the model's lovely face. "She is your sister." After that, she had her mother had talked about it, and just how she knew the family connection._

Sam needed to know the truth, or to be sure. She couldn't live her life without knowing it, being able to prove it. She could flip through a magazine and look at the woman's face, a face that was similar to her own, and constantly wonder if it was the truth or not. But it was so hard.

What would Brenda think if she found out she had a sister? Would she track her down? Would they become friends?

What would Sam do if someone tracked her down and told her she had a sister, and that the woman staring back at her was family? Would Sam be happy? Would she like the woman?

All her life, Sam had tried to put herself into the other person's shoes. Now she was putting herself in Brenda's shoes. If she were Brenda, a great model, would she really care about an addition to the family? Maybe. Maybe not.

No matter how hard she tried to put herself in the woman's shoes, she knew that not all people thought alike. So, she forced herself to do what was best for her, she put herself first this time, and she wasn't used to it one bit.

Getting out of the car, she felt the light drizzle on her face, her hair, the tip of her nose. Her red leather jacket didn't do a good job keeping her warm, but at least it kept her dry.

She ran to the door and stepped though it. "Sorry I'm late," she said at the woman.

The woman had a slim triangular face with a few wrinkles. Her hair, white with age, was up in a bun. Her body was tall, especially for her age, and slim. She wore a navy blue sweater that was twice her size, and her arms were wrapped around her shaking body as the outside wind blew. For early September, it felt more like October. Sam shut the door and the woman stopped shivering.

"I'm glad you came," the woman said in a soft voice. She pointed Sam to a chair and Sam sat down. "When the agency called me about someone inquiring into their past I had to help. I used to work here back in the early seventies and I retired in 1987. I remember your case and your adoption."

Sam listened eagerly.

"You were brought in one spring morning into a hospital. You and another girl. Since we were partners with that hospital, we handled the adoption. You were adopted by the McCall family and were named Samantha McCall and moved to Charlotte, North Carolina. The other girl was adopted a week before you by the Barrett family and was named Brenda, she moved to Orange County, California, but she did a lot of moving back to Port Charles."

So that was why her mother insisted that the model was her sister. But still, Sam had questions. "Was a DNA test ever performed?"

"It was back in the late seventies, early eighties. They didn't do DNA back then. And in case of adoption, they still don't do it."

She wondered if Brenda knew about the adoption. If Brenda knew she might have a sister. She wondered if she should contact the woman. But then again, the woman was a celebrity and she kept her address a secret.

"Did this information help any?" the lady asked.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. It might have, but I would like to contact Brenda Barrett and see for myself."

The woman nodded. "I don't know her address, but the adoption agency did get into touch with the family who adopted her and they did provide me with her phone number. Would you like it?"

Sam smiled and nearly jumped for joy. "Of course," she said happily.

The lady gave her the number and Sam's cell phone rang from inside her purse. She grabbed the little sheet of paper and then reached for the phone. According to the caller ID, it was Molly's home phone number that was displayed. Goosebumps ran down her arms and legs as she thought of the worst. Why would Molly be calling her at that hour? Especially since they had talked a little over an hour ago.

"Hello?" she asked after flipping the phone.

"Dr. McCall?" Molly's mother, Glenda, said.

"Call me Sam," she said. "What's wrong?"

"The doctor just called about the pregnancy test."

Sam felt her heart rate speed up and she kept thinking; please don't let this girl suffer more by making her pregnant.

"Molly's. . . . . .

---

**Author's Note:** Thanks to all who reviewed the previous chapter, and since I enjoyed responding to the reviews comments, I'll do it again. :)

_I can't wait to find out who the rapist is! I'm guessing it's Diego, Lorenzo, or even Sonny!_

I can't tell you if you're guesses are correct or not, but they are very reasonable. You'll just have to wait and see who it is.

And to everyone else who reviewed, thank you, and please keep it coming.


	8. Problems in the Rain

**Chapter 8**

"Molly's not pregnant."

Sam let go of the breath that she forgot she was holding. It seemed like something on her chest got lighter and she breathed easier. All she had needed was some good news to bring the chaos under which she was living to a slower speed.

"She's not out of the woods yet," Glenda said in a worried tone and Sam understood that, yes, the tragedy wasn't over. "Their still performing the STD and HIV tests."

"When will they say the results will be ready?" Sam asked. She knew that next week was the general decision but she didn't know which day in particular did they have in mind. And she hoped there was a specific day. Somehow, knowing the specifics during a tragedy made people feel a sense of security which was extremely needed.

"Next week, Tuesday, I believe."

"Okay," Sam said. "I hope it's another set of good news." Though good news never traveled in pairs. It was misery that loved company, and if every cliche of life was true, Sam suspected nothing but bad news. And she hoped her suspicions were wrong.

"Molly tells me she'll be talking to cops tomorrow?" Glenda asked and Sam could feel the disprovement in her voice. "It's too early, she's too vulnerable. All that little chat will be doing is upset her and hurt her."

"They have to do it," Sam said, hoping she could explain it to the point the woman would understand. "They want to find the man who did this to her. And they can't do that without her help. Don't you want that bastard behind bars?"

"More then anything," Glenda remarked with a bitter and sad tone in her voice. "More then anything."

"So, she has to help them."

"Don't they have enough evidence? We gave them all the stuff she wore that night, and she had lead them to the scene of the attack."

"Maybe they didn't find anything."

"What do you mean? Couldn't they find sperm or semen or other bodily fluids?"

"Maybe he was careful." Sam knew that was possible, yet extremely unlikely. It didn't seem like a planned attack. It seemed almost random. And random attacks had flaws, they left behind clues, and those made the cops lives easier.

"It could hurt her. Talking to them, remembering, feeling the pain again. It could hurt her."

"She's hurting either way," Sam commented. "It would hurt now, it would almost be unbearable." Like a blizzard of rain. "But in time, when the guy is caught, she will feel a sense of justice and that would make her feel better." Like the first rays of light after the rain.

They talked for a few more minutes, but Glenda agreed eventually. After handing up, Sam put the phone back in her purse and addressed the woman before her, "Sorry about that."

"No problem," she said in a sweet tone. "I just hope that whatever it is turns out okay."

"I hope so too," she said absently.

The old lady gave Sam a gracious smile. "I hope you find your sister. She will probably be expecting your call."

Sam nodded. "Thank you for the number. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"I'm glad I could help," the lady said before letting Sam out of the small adoption agency and into the rain on the street.

---

It was two o'clock at night, raining like cats and dogs, the fog was thick and heavy, and only cops and criminals roamed the streets.

Jason Morgan was one of those criminals. He stood on pier 52 with his trusted leather jacket, warn with age but one he didn't wish to part with because it was such a part of his life. His leather jacket was the only thing he had been able to keep for years, the only thing that made him feel secure, safe, human. Strange. It was strange beyond belief, but the damn piece of fabric made him feel good. Some would say he was pathetic. He's say so too. So for that matter, he didn't tell anyone why he had worn that same stupid jacket for twelve or so years.

The legs of his blue jeans were wet and clung to his skin. Rain drops fell on his face, distracting his eye sight.

Though the thick fog he could hear the sound of a boat coming into the harbor and the lights of a boat were struggling to reach his eyes. He knew he was close to the edge, and if he took a few more steps, he risked walking into the water. So, Jason stood rooted to the ground.

He wondered where there any cops around, but pushed the though away quickly. Never in his twelve years of being a professional criminal had he seen cops bust drug scenes during a heavy fog and high rains. And that was why the weather was good for his business.

Once the boat arrived, he helped the men unload it and load the drugs (crack, to be exact) into a truck. From there, the narcotics would be taken to a clue where they will be sold to street gangsters. The street gangsters would sell it to whoever was buying and they ran a higher risk or being caught then Jason did.

But he still ran a risk, he though bitterly. He still ran the risk of being arrested and charged with many different crimes and violations. So he worked carefully.

He didn't go home after his criminal job was complete. He didn't go anywhere but to his boss's place. As he pulled up in front of Sonny's house, he breathed in deeply and glanced up.

It was three thirty now and it seemed like the fog had lifted. He wasn't able to see the clouds in the sky, but he could see most of the roof of Sonny's grand estate.

One of his boss's guards opened the gate for him and he drove though. As he rounded the house to park, he glanced up and saw a light in the far bedroom. Michael's bedroom. It was three thirty at night and the boy was still awake? Jason was concerned about that. Michael didn't have the highest educational rating in school, and lack of sleep will really make him fail a few classes. He made a mental note to talk to the boy. Sometimes, Michael listened to Jason more then to Sonny. Probably because Jason always listened to both sides of every story before making a decision, unlike Sonny whose motto was 'my way or the highway'.

He walked into the house and was directed to Sonny's personal office.

As soon as Jason walked in, Sonny looked up with an embarrassed yet pleased look on his face. His face was facing the computer screen, and his pupils were dilated as if he's been staring at an electronic screen way too long. His hands were somewhere Jason's eyes couldn't see, and he was grateful for that.

"Don't worry," Jason said before Sonny could rush to explain. "I won't tell Carly, or any other woman that you sleep with."

"Thanks, you're. . . a good friend."

"I know Carly's a little crazy sometimes. She would freak out if she found out you jag off to porn sites."

A flash of shame spread across Sonny's face and Jason simply grinned. In a way, he found it funny that Sonny couldn't get his pants zipped.

"What makes you. . . think I'm jagging off?" Sonny's voice was almost outraged.

Jason smiled. "You're blushing." He swiped his hand in front of his nose a few times, back and fourth, back and forth. "Besides, it smells in here, smells like dick. You might want to open a window."

"I'll remember that."

The sound of a zipper was heard easily in the silence of the room, and then Sonny opened a drawer and pulled out a few wet wipes and cleaned his hands.

"How did business go?"

Trying his hardest not to dash toward the door, Jason concentrated on the matter at hand rather then Sonny's one-sides-sex. Besides, it wasn't the first time Jason had caught his friend wet handed. "Good, as usual. Delivered and distributed the goods to The Hunted Star. Luke's happy about the monthly interest he gets paid for keeping his mouth shut and providing us with a place."

"I'm sure," Sonny remarked. "He's getting a great deal of money. But we do have a problem."

"What is it?" He didn't show any emotion, but frustration was tugging at him like an obsessive compulsive dog tugging at a ball.

"Skye wants to convince Luke to work with Alcazar instead of us."

"That can't happen. Luke has been our partner for many years. He wouldn't turn his back on us for Alcazar and Skye."

"Sure he would. What does he have that we have?" Sonny asked.

And Jason understood where his boss was going with it. "Carly. Carly left you and is now with Alcazar."

"And Luke is Carly's uncle."

"Fuck!" Jason said and rubbed his chin, which he did when stressed out. "We need to make sure Carly and Alcazar split. You'll need to get back with her."

"Or we could arrange that Alcazar and Skye get back together."

"I'm not cupid," Jason said. "Don't order me the job of setting them up."

"I know," Sonny said, frustration clear in his voice. Madness thumping though his heart. "But if Skye and Alcazar get back together, then we still risk looking the territory. Skye is as much a partner of Hunted Star as Luke is. She would side with her boyfriend. And Luke isn't really calling the shots all that much. Alcazar helped him in the past, Luke would agree to him."

"Then what needs to be done?" Jason hated asking the question. He already knew the answer.

"Alcazar needs to die."

Anger flashed in his eyes, burned in his heart, tore apart his soul. Out of nowhere, it came. And seconds later, it went away. "I'll do it."

"Good," Sonny said and turned back to the computer, where his eyes got absorbed by nudity, kink, and porn.

Jason left.

As soon as he sat in his car, he glanced at Michael's bedroom window again. Now it was a few minutes until four in the morning, and the lights were still on.

For a moment, Jason would have guessed that Michael fell asleep with the light on, but he noticed that the window was cracked open, when it was closed before.

He drove off because he didn't want to confront the boy just yet, nor did he want to interrupt Sonny when he was busy pleasing himself. And though Jason knew nothing about making love by oneself (since he had never felt compelled to start) he assumed an orgasm was possible. So with that in mind, he didn't want to hear Sonny's one sided climax.

He didn't want to drive home. To the empty penthouse, with no wife, no children, and no imperfections. The penthouse was perfect since the maid cleaned it everyday, and he was never in there long enough to mess it up. It didn't have children's toys laying around anywhere. Nor did it have a woman's purse, lost keys, lipsticks and fashion magazines all over the place. There were no smells of food cooking in the oven, nor where there any notes telling him to raid the 'fridge and not disturb her precious sleep.

He had been married once, and he missed the feeling.

True, he hadn't really loved the woman he had wed. She wasn't the woman of his dreams, nor was he the man of hers. But none the less, he had someone to come home to back then. Now he had no one.

Of course he would never voice that. It wasn't a man thing to do to complain about not being married. So, he pretended to be happy living the single life, while he drove around at night hoping to drown out the need for companionship and the dread of going to an empty home.

As he drove, he thought about Sam.

He didn't know much about her, but what he knew he wasn't happy about. She hated criminals, and that was exactly what he was. She had once loved a cop whom she wasn't over of, and he knew that if he perused a relationship with her, he would just end up being the rebound guy. He didn't want a senseless no strings attacked relationship. He wanted the real thing.

He was in his thirties already, and he was feeling the desire to have kids, a wife to come home to. All his friends here already settling down and he felt left out.

Sonny had his two sons and a daughter, plus an ex wife and a gazzilion of girlfriends. Rick, Sonny's brother, had two daughters and was married to Alexis Davies. His ex-wife Courtney was with Jax, though rumor had it they were unhappy together. It seemed like everyone had paired off and forgot about him.

Without noticing where he was going, he found himself at his destination. Jason glanced up and realized he was standing outside Sam's place. Her apartment light was on, which surprised him.

Should he go in? Should he drive off?

Jason drove off. It seemed safer.

He wanted to see her, damnit.

He loved the darkness and fulness of her hair, the emotions her eyes expressed. The carefree way she had of flirting. He loved the fact that he could talk to her, which he hadn't been able to do before. He knew she liked kids. Why else would she be helping them? But she hated criminals.

He slammed his fist on his thigh in frustration as he turned to an unknown street.

She had dated a cop. She wasn't over that cop. If he did pursue a relationship with her he just ran the risk of getting hurt, or of hurting her.

He slammed his fist again.

He couldn't date her. It was as clear as that. She was Michael's doctor, and should remain that way. She wasa wounded woman and she wasn't ready to be healed. She was. . .

She was. . .

She was. . . Beautiful.

She was easy to talk to, fun to be around by, a great woman. And damn it, he wanted to know her better.

Logic wasn't working. He knew all the reasons why not but he needed to test the waters anyway.

He turned his car around and wound back by her place. The lights in the window were still on. It was four thirty-two in the morning, didn't she ever sleep?

He got out of his car and headed toward the elevator and to her flood. As he stood by her door, he knocked and hoped he didn't wake her. Hoped she hadn't slept with the light on. Hoped she wouldn't throw him out. Hoped that for once in his life, something would go right.


	9. Sunrise and no Rain

**Chapter 9**

Who could it possibly be at that hour in the morning? Sam wondered as she crawled out of bed and glanced at the bedside clock. It was four thirty-three, and if someone was at the door it must have been an emergency. The first thing that jumped into her mind was that something was wrong with one of her patients. Maybe it was Molly or Michael. Or one of the other children she was helping.

Getting up, she grabbed a terry-cloth robe and put it on. Then she walked out and opened the door without looking at the peep hole.

Jason Morgan stood on the other side, and a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She watched with sleepy eyes as he breathed deeply. He looked aloof at the moment, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, his jeans wet, his hair untamed, and his eyes the most intense blue she had ever seen.

"Did I wake you?" he asked and she sensed a hint of concern in his even tone.

"Yeah." There was no point in lying, Sam figured and ran her hands through her hair. Yicks! She hoped he didn't comment on the ratmess that her hair probably had become from the sleep. She moved aside and let him into the apartment. If he was there at that hour of the night - or morning, depends on how you look at it - then it must be good.

"Sorry," he said as he walked in. "I saw your light on and I figured you were awake."

Sam glanced at the general direction of the livingroom and sure enough, the light was on. "I always forget to turn it off," she proclaimed.

"I'm sorry I woke you." He looked her deep into the eyes. "I could go."

"No, no." She held up her hands to protest and closed the door. She wasn't the type of woman to kick a guest out, no matter what time of night it was. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked when she noticed her own craving for caffeine was getting stronger. It was too early for her to be awake.

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter, I could settle for water."

She smiled. "I'm making coffee for myself anyway."

"In that case, yeah."

Her smile grew wider and she walked into the kitchen, set the coffee mate, and walked into the livingroom where Jason comfortably sat on the couch.

"So what were you doing so late in the night?" she asked.

Jason seemed to be lost in thought for a moment before he spoke, "I couldn't sleep, so I was driving around aimlessly."

"Do you always have problems with sleep?" she asked as she sat on the couch, crossing her legs in Indian style and checked her robe to make sure nothing was exposed.

He glanced at her and an amused grin spread on his face. "I don't know. Lately, yeah, I've been restless."

"That isn't healthy." Though she said it, she knew, or suspected that he already knew that.

"I was driving around and passed through Sonny's house. Michael's lights were on, that made me worried."

She tilted her head. "Maybe he fell asleep and forgot to turn the light off."

"I thought so too, but then I drove around it a second time and the window was open, when it was closed the first time around." He breathed and let it go. "Would you see that as a problem?"

"Are his grades suffering?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen his report card, but I know his grades have been going down hill since he was ten. He used to be ambitious, but then something happened and he lost it all. He became highly irritable, and Sonny sought professional help. But none of the doctor's helped. They all mis-diagnosed him."

She nodded. "I read his file. Some doctors said he was a normal adolescent and had normal mood swings, while others proclaimed he was a paranoid schizophrenic."

"And what do you think?"

"He's definitely not a paranoid schizophrenic, that's for sure. And I doubt his mood swings are normal adolescent development. But it's too early to pin point exactly. I need to see him more to know that."

He nodded.

Sam heard the coffee maker complete the brewing process and she stood. "Would you like anything in your coffee?"

"No, I like it black."

She nodded and walked into the kitchen. Since she didn't like to drink just coffee, Sam got a platter of cookies for indulgence. Since she didn't have a serving tray, and never considered herself to be domestic enough to get one, Sam carried the coffee in there first, then came back and got the cookies.

"Chocolate chip," Jason remarked as he dug in. "My grandmother used to bake that."

"These are store bought, I hate to cook and bake, and work in the kitchen."

"That's something I didn't know about you," he said as he bit the cookie. "I assumed you were the type who'd love to cook."

She scrunched her eye brows together "How did you assume that?"

He looked at her, just looked. And a funny expression grew on his face.

"What?" she asked and raised her brows.

"I love that look that you just had."

"What look?" She scrunched her eye brows again.

"That look."

She stood up, fixing her face so it wouldn't move and walked to the bathroom. Jason fallowed her.

She stared at the mirror, admiring her face, or just trying to figure out what he liked so much. "I don't get it. What do you like about this expression. I look confused and nothing more." And maybe that was because that expression was the one that always marked her mis-comprehension.

"It's amusing." He smiled irresistibly. He had a killer smile, Sam noted. It was one that was true rather then fake. And he looked like a man who rarely smiled, so she was a little taken aback at how much he was smiling. It was true about what they said, don't judge a person from his or her appearance. From appearance, she's say he was a hardcore don't give a damn guy with no emotions, but he had proven her wrong with just one glance.

"Do you always smile so much?" she asked as she turned off the light in the bathroom and left back to the livingroom.

"Actually, no. But when around you I forget certain aspects of my personality."

She sat down and drew her knees together. Grabbing the mug of coffee, she cradled it and sipped occasionally. "What kind of aspects?"

"I'm not a talkative person," he said as he sat down and turned to face her. "But when I'm around you I can't shut up."

"It's the shrink in me," she explained. "We're taught to make people open up."

He nodded. "Is there anything I make you forget?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Pain."

"What kind of pain?"

Sam put her coffee mug aside and wrapped her hands around her knees. "Do you have time to listen?" she asked. As a shrink, she was entitled to listen to other people's problems and help them the best she could. Her job was to analyze between the words said and the actions done. She needed to give people her undivided attention. And in all those years, she got no attention in return. She listened to other people's problems, but no one listened to hers. She helped others, but no one helped her. She had grown tired of the closed off circumstances of her life. She had grown tired of it to the point she had left that job for a long time, and had returned only occasionally when she felt the need to help or when a special case presented itself. Michael's case was one that brought her back to her shrink job, and with that she took on many other clients.

"I have nothing but time," he said.

She nodded. "When I was living in Charlotte, North Carolina, I was engaged."

From the look on his face, she assumed that he either never showed emotion during a deep conversation, or that he already knew that.

"And then right around our wedding he died."

"What from?"

"Lung cancer." She breathed in deeply and let it go as if letting go of the memory. "He was a vice cop, and he had to do a lot of stake outs. Apparently, cops do nothing but smoke and watch the grass grow. He didn't have the strongest lungs to begin with." She closed her eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to come out. "Then there was an explosion. He was trying to take down this one drug lord and he set the whole unit of cops up. A warehouse exploded. There were lots of poisonous stuff there, and with it burning it entered his lungs. That made them deteriorate faster and the cancer spread faster. He was healthy one minute, and on his death bed the next."

He listened intensely, not interrupting her or ignoring her. Though in that instant, he knew exactly why she hated criminals. And mobs in particular.

Sam felt tears sting her eyes but she held them there, refusing them to come out. "After he died, I couldn't stay in that town anymore."

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said sympathetically.

Through the threatening tears, she managed a nervous smile. "The thing is, when I'm around you I forget about him."

He didn't say anything for a long time afterward, but she could see that he was speechless. Moments later, he asked, "Why Port Charles?"

She scrunched her eye brows together. "What do you mean?"

He gave her an endearing and said, "You said after he died you couldn't stay in that town anymore. But why Port Charles?"

She shrugged. "Many reasons, I guess. I needed a change of scenery. The job with Michael came up. My mother told me I was adopted in Port Charles and that I have a sister here."

"Have you reunited with your sister already?"

"I have her phone number, but I've never called her. I only got the number yesterday."

He nodded. "And how did the job with Michael come up? I thought Sonny found out there was a new doctor and gave you a shot."

She smiled at him nervously, his intense gaze, and sipped her lukewarm coffee. It no longer tasted good, so to destroy the bitter flavor she bit into a cookie. "I found out about Michael when I was deciding what I would do in Port Charles. A doctor told me about her failing case with the boy and I decided to join the staff and see if I could help."

Sam glanced at the sliding door in her apartment and saw the first rays of dawn shining through. "It's morning," she said and turned off the light.

The room grew dark, but the twilight of the morning rays were reaching the window and she knew that soon the room will be engulfed with light. She kept her eyes on the sky outside the sliding doors as she said, "Now you know a little about me. Tell me something about yourself." She glanced into his eyes and saw the same color of the sky. He had the loveliest eyes, she noted. "Ever been married? Any kids?"

"No kids," he said.

"And wives?"

"Two ex-wives."

"Two?" She looked at him intensely. So what was wrong with him? She had heard that if a man has done through one divorce, he was a good guy, but if he'd been through two, then there was something wrong with him.

"Yeah, two. The first was a marriage of convenience. There was no love or feelings attached. After a while, a small crush developed, but she left and moved to France. The second marriage had love, but it ended. We were too different to work, we had completely different goals, completely different views on life."

She glanced at the sliding door and noted that it was lighter in the room. "Do you miss being married?"

"Sometimes," he said. "I miss waking up next to someone, I miss the goal of having kids."

"You don't seem like the type to be domestic."

"Appearances can be deceiving." He smiled.

She stood and walked to the sling door that lead to the terrace. She watched as the beautiful light spread through the sky engulfing everything in it's warmth. "If you miss being married, have you ever tried to find a woman who could be a wife?"

"I didn't want to marry simple for the purpose of being married. If there's no love, and no possibility of love, then it's all worthless. I want to love someone in order to marry them. And this time, I want to make sure that the love doesn't fade."

"Have you found someone whom you could love?"

She kept staring up ahead, but she felt his breath on her neck, and his hands snaked around her waist. She felt the pressure of his fingertips on the belt of her robe, but he didn't untie it. She felt his chest against her back, and his shallow breathing. Sam closed her eyes to absorb the feelings running through her.

"I don't know, maybe," he said.

Sam felt his heart beating against the curves of her back, and she didn't want to miss that feeling, she wanted to absorb it. But she knew that as soon as he would let her go, she would want, need, to feel it again.

"We have watched the sun raise, maybe we could watch it set someday too?"

She turned to face him, and instantly missed the beating of his heart on her back. But his arms were still around him, and she could feel the strong pressure of them holding her. She loved the feeling of his arms around her. "I'd love that," she said and stared deep into his blue eyes. Blue like the sky.

His pupils dilated, and his eyes darkened right in front of her own. She felt her breath catch right inside her chest, and her eye lids grew heavy.

"I know I shouldn't want this. You're not over you ex, but could I kiss you?" he asked, his voice deep with need, silky with desire.

"Please do," she murmured, anticipation ran through her. She felt as a fabric of silk wrapped inside her stomach, and millions of butterfly wings rattled around the layers of her skin.

Sam closed her eyes and parted her lips to allow herself to interlink with desire. She felt his breath on her nose, then slowly turning to her cheek as he positioned his mouth over hers. His bottom lip rubbed against hers like leather on silk, and she felt her breath catch in her throat again.

He was about to kiss her. . .

. . .And then she heard the ringing of his cell phone.

He pulled away and glanced at the readout of his phone. "I have to get this," he said.

She nodded and hated the missed opportunity.

She had told him that he made her forget, but now she realized it wasn't true. He made her remember. Sam remembered the desire she had refused to feel. She remembered how much she had missed being touched, hugged, cradled, and kissed.

True, her fiancé had died almost a month ago, but she hadn't had sex in one full year if not longer. For the first time, she realized there were flaws in her old relationship, flaws that would have lead to divorce. Jeremy didn't find her desirable, and therefor they had no sex life. She had grown accustomed to that, now she craved attention.

She watched as Jason said a few things into the phone and hung up. She watched his strong hands put the phone away into his jean pocket. Those hands that could hold her, make her feel strong. She watched at he walked toward her, his body strong and lean and athletic. She knew that body could shelter her, please her, take her over the edge of no return, and make her feel nothing other then pleasure and satisfaction.

She wanted him. Needed him. With one touch, he had awakened a greedy desire inside her. One that hadn't been tapped into yet.

"I have to go. It sounds like something important." He drew her into his arms and kissed her forehead, and let her go. "I'll call you," he said and walked out of the apartment leaving her feeling vulnerable.


	10. Memory of The Rain

**Chapter 10**

"This better be good," Jason said as he walked into Sonny's house. It was a dark place, moody and gloomy, and it fit Sonny's personality perfectly. The walls were all wood imitation, the floors were hardwood with dark brown carpeting in the upstairs. The windows were French and had redwood trimmings, and the doors were mahogany. Inside the livingroom was the only thing that gave the house a life, it was the orange couch. It stood out, different from the rest of the dark brown decor. It added to the place, and needless to say, Sonny wasn't the one who picked it out. Carly, though having a lack in decorating skills - but having more then Sonny, knew that to bring life into the house or the room, she'd need something of outrageous color, and that was where the couch came from.

Sonny was already at the door waiting for him, and his face turned to a worried gaze. "Did I interrupt something important?"

"Actually, yes," he clarified angrily and stood straight in front of his boss. "So what's the emergency?"

"It's Michael."

"You said that on the phone. What else?"

Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched as Carly walked down the stairs. Her blonde hair flaunting around her shoulders, her blue eyes showed signs of fear, which was normally an emotion Carly was incapable of feeling. She looked fragile, and from the redness of her face he assumed she'd been crying.

Carly?

Crying?

Something wrong with Michael?

Panic arose in him and he knew that the people he cared about were hurting.

Carly walked to the landing and glanced at Jason. After giving him a weak smile she turned to Sonny. "I don't know what to do, he just doesn't talk to me."

Sonny nodded. "I tried talking to him too. . . Nothing." He turned to Jason and he already knew what his friend was going to ask of him.

"I'll go talk to him," Jason said before instructed to do so.

"Thank you," Sonny murmured.

He walked upstairs with everyone still staying in their spots at the landing. From what he saw of their worried faces, this was something he wasn't sure he could deal with.

He walked into Michael's bedroom without knocking and glanced at the redhead boy sitting on the bed. He looked younger, and Jason remembered all the times he had taken care of Michael when he was a kid. "Hey," he said and the boy looked up.

"Hey, Jay."

For once, Jason let the nickname slide. There were bigger problems at hand then making Michael learn about respectful speech.

"Your parents' say something's wrong with you."

"Nothing's wrong." He smiled as if to convince it was all true.

"They're worried about something."

"Only because they have their panties in a twist," Michael chuckled.

Jason sighed in frustration. He didn't even know what the problem was, and already he was ordered to fix it. It would have been helpful if Sonny actually told him something of use.

He glanced around the small bedroom which was painted in a gray color, with rap and rock artist's posters littering the walls. There was a computer in Michael's room, and it was off at the moment. The desk around it was messy, as it was in every man's room. Men, especially young ones, had no clue on how to clean. No independence. Except Jason and other grown up bachelors who afforded cleaning ladies. Sonny had a cleaning lady too, who cleaned all the rooms to a museum like status, but Michael had arranged that his room be left alone. And Sonny, the careless bastard that he was, posed no opposition.

Sonny walked into the room and Jason looked at him. "What's the problem?"

He stared off someplace for a moment, as if in deep thought. "I don't know how to say this. Michael has been. . . He has been." Sonny paused and opened one of the drawers on the desk.

Jason didn't need to hear the rest of the sentence to know what was wrong. Now he understood. He stood frozen as he glanced at the bag with green, dried, grass in it. Now he understood why the bedroom window was opened the second time around. He turned to Michael, and glared him in the eyes. "You've been experimenting with drugs?"

"So," Michael said innocently. "Everybody does it."

Jason felt his frustration spike, and anger formed inside him like a poisonous pill. "Not everybody!" he shouted. "I don't use it, your father doesn't use it. No one I know of uses it."

"Really? If no one used it, then why are you two selling it?"

Jason thought in frustration. "We don't sell weed."

"No, but you do sell crack, or heroin, or ecstacy."

Jason though it frustration, the boy was into drugs. And wasn't that exactly what he and Sonny were promoting. The boy was only following in their example. He turned to Sonny and whispered, "I want to talk to him alone."

Sonny nodded. "That's why you're here," he said and walked out of the bedroom.

Jason walked over to the bed and sat down next to his nephew. Michael was almost like a son to him. He remembered the boy when he was a baby, when he was one years old, in the phases where he thought that Sonny was a hero, that Jason was a hero. And now, now he was a teen, a stage Jason wasn't prepared for. He sighed and put his hands in his lap. What to say? What to do? His heart ached with pain for the boy, he was almost like a son to him. "Michael," Jason finally began. "Your father and I are selling drugs, there's a different between selling and using."

Michael chuckled as if it were funny, and Jason assumed there was an irony to that. "But tell me honestly, working around drugs as you do, that you don't ever feel tempted to use them."

"I'm not. I know what it can do to you. I've never even considered using them."

Michael shrugged. "Guess you and I are different."

"We don't have to be, all you have to do is stop smoking."

He shrugged again. "It makes me feel good."

"It's an artificial feeling, Michael, it's not real. And the feeling goes away quickly, but the side affects remain forever. Did you know that it takes about two hours for the high to wear off, but it takes about a month for the drug to leave your system. The human body is a delicate thing, you don't want to trash it with drugs."

"I haven't been using them as often as you think."

"Then how often have you been using them?" Jason asked.

"This week only once."

"And last week."

When Michael looked down, Jason realized it was too many to count.

Something stuck him as odd. The boy had been happy for the whole week, acting as if high, but he was drug free. High without drugs. A natural high. He wanted to run that by Sam and see if she could take on two meetings with Michael instead of one per week.

As he was in the process of thinking, Courtney walked into the room and Jason instinctively stood up.

"Carly called me, she said something was wrong with Michael," she explained.

Jason walked toward her and lead her out of the room. "He's using drugs," he explained.

"Drugs?"

Jason nodded.

"My God, why would he do that?"

"He said it makes him feel good." Jason rubbed his face in his hands and tilted his head backward, this was a complicating he didn't need.

"How long has it been going on?"

"I don't know," he said.

Courtney laid her back against the wall and put her hands into the pockets of her tan jacket. It was a pretty fashionable one, with fur (which he hoped was fake) lining the neckline and all the trims and hems of it. "There are a lot of drug addicts in my foundation. It's such a sad thing."

He nodded. "How is your foundation doing anyway?"

"Good, I guess." She glanced at him and then glanced down. "I was wondering if you would like to donate some money to the foundation?"

"I though Jax was taking care of all the finances."

She glanced up at him. "Jax and I broke up."

---

Sam sat in her office at the mental hospital and looked through her appointment book. She had plans, she was constantly busy. Out of one page, a little sheet fell out. She stared at it, reading each number over and over until it was almost scratched into the lining of her memory. It was her sister's number. She should call, she should. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Nerves pulled at her, she was too nervous.

Putting the number away, she closed her eyes and remembered the morning with Jason. Only earlier in the morning he had almost kissed her, and had awoken the woman inside of her. She now wanted to feel, to touch, to taste, to explore. Things she had been denied for years. She wanted it all, and she wanted it with him.

The phone on her office desk rang and a chill of fear ran down her neck. What if it was a problem? Something wrong with her patients? Michael? Molly? Any other child?

She snatched the phone and put it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey," Jason' voice rang on the other end.

She smiled widely. "How come you're calling the office instead of my cell phone?"

"I figured that if you're with a patient you wouldn't answer the cell phone, but you might answer the office phone."

She tilted her head to the side and for some unknown reason her smile grew wider. "I don't have any patients at the moment, though one is running a few minutes late."

"I wanted to talk to you," he said, "about two things. Which do you want first, the good news or the bad news?"

"Can't you give me double good news and no bad news?" she asked flirtatiously.

"I wish I could, but unfortunately you have to know the bad news."

"In that case, give me the good news first."

"I want a date," he said and she felt her heart jump. "We could see the sunset."

"When?"

"How's tonight?"

Sam opened to the appropriate page of her appointment book and glanced down. She felt as a frown caressed her face and her heart beat slowed down. "I can't. I have a meeting with the PCDP about a rape one of my patients has gone through."

There was silence for a moment. "How about tomorrow evening?"

She turned to the appropriate page and glanced at it. A meeting. An important meeting. She wondered how would everyone feel if she canceled a meeting to go out on a date. "Sure, tomorrow is great for me." She scratched the meeting out and put down Jason's name on the page. She had a date! And besides, she'd been looking forward to getting out of that terrible meeting with the people who drove her up a wall.

"I'll pick you up at six thirty then."

"Can't wait."

"Now the bad news," he said. "I was wondering if you could take on another appointment with Michael? Like twice a week instead of once?"

She though it through. "Is it really that bad?"

"He's experimenting with drugs."

She flipped through her appointment book to see if she had any openings to see the boy. "That would explain why he's happy. He's high."

"Not really. He sais he didn't use a lot of drugs this week. But last week he had."

"He was aggravated last week," Sam noted.

"I noticed that too. It doesn't many any sense."

Sam thought about it. So far, Michael had mood swings, abused drugs, and had sleeping problems. As she flipped through a page, she saw an opening for one hour. "I could take him in every Friday at six."

"Thank, Sam," he said. "And sorry about waking you so early this morning."

"No, I'm glad you woke me up," she said. "Gave me a chance to get to know you better, and to watch a beautiful sunrise."

---

It was evening and Sam walked into the police department building and walked to the private interrogation room. She had seen Glenda's car outside so she knew Molly and her mother were already there. As she walked, she noted the chaos of the building, the officers that walked back and forth with cups of coffee and files in their hands. Everyone was busy, some were only pretending to be busy. The scene was familiar to Sam, and for the first time it hadn't brought her sadness.

"Dr. McCall," Lucky Spencer said as he welcomed her. "Right this way."

She walked where he lead her. In the small room, the table was pushed aside, and some comfortable chairs were placed for everyone to sit. Some were already occupied. She watched as Molly ate a doughnut, provided by the PD, no doubt. And Glenda was drinking coffee. She noted a blond man with curly hair. He was dressed in a suit so she knew he wasn't a street cop, but he was someone amongst cops. Lucky pointed her to a chair and she sat down, then he took the only free one.

"This is Commissioner Scorpio," Lucky introduced.

"Hello," Sam said and extended her hand in a formal handshake.

"I'm glad you could see us," the Commissioner said and glanced at Molly who was just finishing up her sugary snack.

"Okay, Molly," Sam said as soon as the girl had finished. "What could you tell us about the night of your rape?"

She stared blank-eyed at nothing in the room. "It was dark," she said, and they all already knew that.

When Scorpio opened his mouth to say something, Sam raised her hand and he closed it just as quickly.

"I saw his face."

"What did he look like?" Sam asked.

"I. . ." Molly closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. "I knew him, had seen him many times before."

"Who is he, Molly?" Sam asked in an intimate, secure tone, hoping to cause trust and security in the girl. Hoping to put her fears and tragedies at ease.

"I. . . I don't remember," she said and her face looked confused, but at the same time, it seemed as if she'd just gone through an epiphany.

Sam looked at Glenda and the two men in the room. All eyes were on Molly, all looked confused.

Sam took in a deep breath and breathed out. She felt a chill run down her back as she turned back to the girl. She was shaking. Molly was shaking valiantly. She started hypervenolating, her breathing shallow and rapid, and loud. A wheezing sound escaped her, oven and over again. Her eyes wondered around the room.

"Quick!" Sam shouted. "Get me a paper bag."

Lucky ran out of the room and returned in a few minutes, handing the brown bag to Sam. She opened it and placed it on Molly's mouth. "Breath," she said.

"What's wrong?" Glenda asked. "What's happening to my daughter?"

Sam's heart filled with sadness. "She just had a panic attack."

"She's never had those before," Glenda said.

"It's okay, Molly," Sam said. "It's okay."

"I don't get it," Scorpio said. "She said she knew him, but she couldn't remember?"

Sam nodded. "She's blocking it out, and that might have been what caused her panic attack."

"Then what should we do?"

"Hypnosis can carry a risk," Sam said, "So I don't want to go in that direction. But if nothing else works we might have to hypnotize her into remembering."

"And what do we do in the mean time?" Lucky asked.

Sam shrugged and ran a hand though Molly's shoulder. "Wasn't there any sperm or other physical evidence found?"

"We had sperm but it didn't match anything in the DNA bank."

"How does a DNA bank work?" Glenda asked as she hugged her daughter tightly, silently murmuring nice, supportive things into her ear.

"When a sex offender is convicted, we take a sample of his DNA and put it in this file where for future instances we could monitor if he has committed more crimes. This DNA comes out empty, which means this guy is a first time offender, or other victims haven't come forward."

"Do you think there could have been more victims?" Glenda asked.

"Could be," Lucky said, "We are always-."

"No," Sam interrupted. "It was an isolated assault and he knew his victim. That to me sais that she was a planned attack. Serial attacks are usually random following a formula."

"I'm sorry, Dr. McCall," Scorpio said, "but you are not authorized to make a statement like that. You don't have a knowledge of the criminal mind."

"I'm a psychologist. I know what I'm talking about."

"You're a child and developmental psychologist. You're expertise doesn't carry to mens rea, criminal psychology, or profiling psychology."

She could have argued that point, but Sam decided to let it go, but she was also trained in profiling psychology.

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	11. Sunset Rain

**Chapter 11**

Molly sat in the bathroom of her school, and tried not to get another panic attack. She sat in a stall, hoping to not be seen or heard. But that didn't stop her ears from hearing. She heard two cheerleaders talking, their free lifestyles and their small minded gossip.

"Did you hear about that Corrinthos kid? I hear he's damn good in bed," one girl commented.

"Well, what do you expect? I hear his father has slept with every rich woman in town. He's like a fucking sex freak."

"I know."

Molly felt smart when listening to those girls. The way they talked, they sounded like the bitches from Clueless, or some other chick flick about fashionable bimbos. She never wanted to be like that. But she was also jealous, those girls had it easy.

"You should have been in gym class yesterday. Michael is such a freak."

"What did he do?"

"He like threw a ball at David and broke his nose, and he didn't even apologize."

"What a jerk," one girl said in disgust.

"Yeah, and he even laughed afterward. They tried to suspend him but his father bribed the principle. So now he's still in school but they're not letting him participate in physical activities."

"Serves him right."

"But did you see David's face. He's got a black eye and everything. And his nose is all blue and all. He looks so funny."

"David's a geek, he so deserved it. Idiot couldn't even catch a ball."

"I know, right?"

Molly wanted to gag after hearing the conversation. Such hypocrites. One minute they were talking about how what Michael did was wrong, yet the next they were making fun of his innocent victim.

She heard the facet turn on and water running, it's soft chime against the loudness of the two bimbets.

"Did you hear about that chick who got raped? Molly or is it?"

"Yeah, I heard. She like voluntarily slept with the guy and then accused him of rape. What a bitch?"

"I know. And she's like blackmailing that guy with something so she could gold dig him."

Molly felt tears sting her eyes. Those low class bitches knew nothing about her, yet they felt the need to insult her behind her back. She felt her heart contract and explode with sadness and emotion as she tried to hold in a sob. She didn't want the girl's to know she was there, listening. She didn't want to see their fake smiles and listen to their fake sympathy.

"Did you hear, Molly even slept with Michael's dad. She's such a slut. I wonder whose the daddy of her baby."

"What? She's pregnant?"

"Uh-um. She also has AIDS."

"Oh, remind me to stay away from her. She's probably contagious."

She heard the door open and then close, and the bathroom grew quite. Those ignorant bitches! How could they? None of it was true, Molly thought. But then she looked down and tears slipped from her eyes. She still didn't know the results of the STD test.

---

The rumor mill was circling all morning, Michael thought as he sat at his desk in English class. He had just been transferred to a different English class because the last teacher couldn't stand his guts. He still knew most of the student's though. He sat in the full room, and glanced at the only empty seat in the room.

God he was tired. That lack of sleep was catching up with him, obviously. And he couldn't remember the last time he felt so bad.

No, wait. Two weeks ago. He felt like shit two weeks ago. And he was once again feeling that way. He was no longer happy, and he could sense agitation as it wrapped around him like a bounding ribbon, meant for strangulation.

He lifted his head when he saw the door open, and Molly stood frozen in the doorway.

She was beautiful, he noted. But she was also scared.

---

Embarrassed, shameful, regretful. She stared at her classmates, hoping they didn't see her. Notice her. God, she wished she could be invisible.

Someone looked at her, then another. People were looking.

Embarrassed. Molly breathed in, she notices she was breathing rapidly. Her pulse was racing. Her heart was jumping inside her chest as if a shot of adrenaline was pumped inside of her. Her knees grew weak, her head began to spun dizzily. She felt her lungs burn, she was starting to wheeze. She needed to run.

Hide.

Disappear.

She needed to run.

---

Michael watched as she dashed out of the doorway and somewhere into the hall.

"What's wrong with her?" one guy asked another behind him.

"I don't know. She's like insane or something."

Michael had heard that talk before. But in high school, he came up with the conclusion that everybody was insane, they certainly accused each other with it.

He stood up. This damn class wasn't worth it anyway. None of his friends were here. Not in this class at least. He grabbed his backpack and walked toward the door.

"Michael," the teacher said in a commanding voice. "Michael, where are you going?"

He didn't respond but instead walked out. As he looked in both directions of the long hallway, he saw her walking, wheezing, stumbling.

He walked toward her, as sadness filled him. He's been awfully sad for the last twenty or so hours. It came out of nowhere, a sadness and worthlessness that he couldn't shake. He missed the happiness. The obsessive, high happiness.

He came toward her and put a soft hand on her shoulder. Why would she listen to him anyway? And what would he have to say to begin with? He felt hopeless. But the girl was hurting and he wanted to help. Sadness seemed to understand sadness. And the girl looked sad.

"What's wrong?" he asked but she stumbled and shook her head, still wheezing.

He assumed she couldn't talk at the moment so he pushed her softly against a locker. "Sit."

She slid down to the floor as instructed.

"Stay," he said as he ran across the hall to his locker. Michael pulled out his brown bagged lunch and pulled all the stuff from the bag. Once the brown bag was empty, he closed his locker and ran back to Molly.

"Here," he gave her the bag and she put it over her nose and mouth.

She breathed in and out, slower and slower each time. Michael watched with fascination, and he was surprised that he had done something right, but he was no hero, not by a long shot. He stood and watched her, the shining redness of her curly hair. In the sunlight coming from one window, he could see the luster. And when she glanced up at him, her green eyes gazed into him, into his soul. Michael felt something he hadn't felt before, ever. For the moment, he wanted to touch her hair, just to see how it felt against his skin. He wanted to touch her cheek, her skin. But he didn't know how to. Despite the rumors floating around, he was a virgin. Shit, he hadn't even dated. Most woman were repelled by his mood swings and his family.

He hoped this one wasn't like all the others. Slowly, he kneeled down next to her and touched her arm. A flash of heat flowed into him and he felt his heart pulse faster. "Are you okay?" he asked hoping his voice didn't show the breathlessness he felt.

She lowered the paper bag and looked at him with a look so sincere he felt something sting inside of him. Something sad yet beautiful.

"Thank you," she said quietly as she handed him the paper bag and tried to smile though her lips trembled.

He was fixated by the trembling, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. He felt something. Something unfamiliar. Something he didn't know and couldn't identify. But it was strong. A strong, very strong feeling.

"Come on," he said and he took her hand and pulled her up. "I'll walk you to class."

She shook her head. "Anywhere but there."

He nodded and slowly but surely slipped his hand around her and placed it on the small of her back. "Okay, so lets ditch then."

After they both got their jackets, they left. And ten minutes later, she was safe at home while Michael walked around the park, trying to figure out that feeling that was just born inside of him.

---

She didn't know where he was taking her, so she chose to wear blue jeans that made her legs look longer, and high healed boots that added to the same effect. The sweater she wore was black and cashmere, and with the gold hoops and her red leather jacket, the look was complete. Her makeup blended nicely, her hair had it's full volume and soft waves, and she tried not to look eager as she paced the floor of her apartment waiting for him to arrive.

Damn it, it was only six fifteen. Why was she pacing like a lunatic, waiting for him to show up early.

Eager.

She was too eager to see him, she realized as she walked back and forth waiting for him.

She had rescheduled the important meeting she had, but after much consideration, she decided to go back to her high school days and claim she had a cold rather then be honest about her reasons.

Her life was becoming complicated. But she chose to avoid all thoughts of those complications.

A few minutes later, someone knocked on the door and Sam opened quickly.

"Hi," Jason said as he smiled at her. "I see you're ready."

They walked to the car together, and as Sam sat down, she saw a blanket laying in the backseat. She wondered as to why he had one. "Where are you taking me?"

"To see the sunset," he answered with a smile.

"Yeah, but where?"

"You'll see."

"Well, I do like surprises," she said and smiled.

Through the ride, they had some small talk and discussed their lives. Sam was surprised to learn that Jason has suffered through an accident and that he was brain damaged.

He had told her about how his family was disappointed that he couldn't remember his love for them, and that the first person who accepted him as he was was his sister, Emily.

"You'd like her," he said and gave her a sideways glance. "She's a really nice person who likes to help others. You might actually know her too. She works at the hospital."

"Really? I don't know any doctors named Emily Morgan."

"Oh," Jason said through a grin. "Her name is Emily Quartermain."

"Why is her name different?"

"Because after my accident I decided to change my name." He told her about how he rebelled against them trying to mold him into who he was instead of who he chose to be. And with the rebellion came a new name. He told her about his grandmother, and how she died.

And when it was Sam's turn to speak, she told him about her life too.

"Did you always know you wanted to be a psychologist?" Jason asked.

"I grew up in a not so good neighborhood and I saw a lot of things. I didn't want to go on without doing something about it. So I became a psychologist. I figured I could help people with their personal problems, kids in particular."

"But isn't the job stressful?" He turned into a parking lot and Sam examined her surroundings.

"This is beautiful," she said forgetting his question.

He got out of the car and grabbed the blanket. Together, they walked through the concrete until they reached the white sands of the beach. It was cold outside, and the beach was completely abandoned. The waves of the water crashed against the sand and whatever rocks were around. The luster of the setting sun's rays made the water shimmer in it's most magnificent detail.

Jason set the blanket on the sand and pulled out his cell phone. "I don't want to be interrupted," he said as he turned it off and put it back into his pocket.

Sam knew that not many people could call her so she didn't repeat the process. She had left her purse at home, and her cell phone, a wallet, and a lipstick were all placed nicely into the pockets of her jacket.

Jason sat down on the blanket and spread and bent his legs. "Come on," he patted the spot on the blanket between his legs and she sat down.

He wrapped his legs around her and she rested her arms on his knees. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her back closer to his chest.

Even through all the fabric, Sam tried to feel the beating of his heart on her back but all she could feel was her own. Unless she closed her eyes and concentrated, then she could feel his, soft and soothing. He pressed his face into her hair and his breathing chilled the skin under her ear. She felt an erotic chill run down her back and felt all desire ever denied pulse into her.

"This is beautiful," he whispered against her skin.

She looked at the orange sky and the green blue water. The white sands and the none stop sparkling all around. It was nature's most beautiful design.

"It is," she said and felt his strong arms around her. She liked his touch. Loved his touch. Craved his touch.

They sat in silence, absorbing each other's presence, and watching as the sky went from blue to yellow and the sun expanded and lowered toward the horizon.

"Have you called your sister, yet?" Jason asked out of the blue, and his voice indicated real concern and care.

"No," she answered in a voice so low, she was surprised he had heard her. "I'm afraid she wouldn't want anything to do with me. I mean look at it, we grew up not knowing each other. Would she want to know me now? Would it be better if I left it all alone?"

"You're nervous," he explained and it surprised her that he knew that. After knowing her for so little, he seemed to really know her.

"Yeah, I'm nervous," she admitted to him.

"You wanna know something?" He whispered into her ear. "After your first date, I was too nervous to call you."

That took her a little by surprise, because he didn't seem like the type to let nerves get in the way. And besides, didn't he say he was brain damaged?

"I wasn't sure if you would like a second date. But I called anyway, I needed to know."

"I'm glad you called me." She gazed at the horizon as the sun slipped lower and it seemed to melt into the blue water.

"I'm glad I could share this with somebody special," he whispered as the wind blew. His voice and the wind collided, forming a melody that was sweet to her ears.

"Are you saying I'm special?" she asked flirtatiously.

"Does the response have to be verbal?" he returned her flirtatious manner.

Sam turned slightly and tilted her head so she could see his face. "Not necessarily," she said.

In the setting sunlight, and the dim sparkle that now cradled the earth, his eyes were blueish green, a shade she hadn't seen before. She knew that exposure to light can sometimes alter the eye color for a few minutes, but that only applied to blue eyed or grey eyed people. She's never seen that happen, only heard about it. But now her eyes were granted the gift of seeing the beauty in him.

His face floated toward her, and her eye lids grew heavy. She felt her heart rate increase measurably as his face fell upon hers.

She parted her lips, and felt his breath on her skin. His bottom lip brushed against hers, but unlike last time, it didn't stop. No interruptions took place this time.

He teased her with his lips, softly touching hers but no giving anything more. Then when the temptation grew heavy, Sam felt her body get warmer by like ten degrees. His mouth on hers, he ran his tongue over the inside of her bottom lip and then entered her mouth. She felt his taste. His hunger. His thirst.

Her eyes closed and she felt a liquid feeling sting behind her eye lids. This was so intimate, so special. She never wanted it to end.

His hands moved from around her body and he put his hands in her hair. She loved the feel of him exploring her, learning about her, studying her. She felt his heart beat heavily as she put her hand on his chest. Felt his attraction for her.

Moving her hand upward, she touched his cheek, his neck, then his cheek again. She couldn't decide what she wanted to touch more, feel more, explore more.

She felt her heart beat wildly as his tongue explored her mouth. She tasted him, he tasted her.

"I never imagined it could be like this," he whispered as he pulled away from her mouth and caught his breath. Too bad she couldn't do the same. She had her mouth open, begging for air to enter her lungs, yet she held her breath as his mouth traveled to her neck.

She kept her eyes closed, and drew herself closer to him. Sam tilted her head for better access and moaned when he left a trail of kisses. His hands untied the belt on her jacket, and unzipped the zipper.

He pushed the sides of her jacket aside and rested his hands on her sweater, feeling the contours of her skin.

Jason kissed her neck and left a trail of kisses down to her collarbone. She tried not to sigh or moan, but couldn't hold it in. Her chest hurt with the need to feel him, skin against skin. He had awakened a desire inside her, and like a flame, it grew. Like a fire, it burned. And she didn't want to set the fire out. No, she wanted it to grow.


	12. Lust in Rain

**Chapter 12**

The date had ended rather quickly after the heated kiss. It has started to rain like it had been doing quite often that week and Jason drove Sam home to her apartment. He could tell by her lustful gaze that she didn't want to part with him, he didn't want to leave her alone in her own home, her own bed, either. But he had to. As soon as he had lead her to her door, his cell phone rang and the number displayed on the caller ID was that of his own penthouse. How the hell can his own home be calling him if no one was home! It was outrageous!

As soon as he left Sam's, he thought that maybe the caller was a fellow criminal who was threatening him in a new and unique way. But as soon as he glanced down at his watch and saw the time, a little past nine, he knew it was too early for any criminal to work. No, criminals were enjoying the evening news at a time like that one. And after the news, they put their children and their wives to sleep, got together to plan their next move, and only executed their plans in the wee hours of the morning.

So it couldn't be a criminal, which only left room for personal. He sighed internally as he tried to figure out who it could be. First, the person didn't talk when he picked up the phone. And when he called back to his home no one picked up either. Maybe it was Michael? Maybe he needed time away from Sonny and decided to run away? Maybe he called Jason but then changed his mind? But what if it wasn't Michael?

Well, whoever it was would have to wait as he drove through the heavy traffic of New York until he reached his place.

As soon as he got up the elevator and looked at his security thugs, he knew something was up. "We tried to stop her," Malvon, one of the guards, said.

Behind Malvon's tall, dark frame, Robert nodded his head in agreement.

Jason didn't know what they were talking about, but as soon as he opened the door to his place and looked at the woman standing by the coffee table, he felt his eyes burn with furious anger and his trigger finger was starting to itch for a kill. Too bad he didn't kill women, because this one was starting to get on his nerves. It was true, he had loved this woman once. He'd loved her more then life or death. But love came and went easily. Her lack of trust in him, her constantly trying to change who he was, her always acting as if she were always right and never wrong, it got tiring.

"What are you doing?" he asked hoping that his voice sounded calm and that his eyes didn't show the fury that was boiling behind them.

The woman just looked at him with no answer on her lips. It didn't matter, he knew the answer to that question. The woman had her hair brushed smoothly, she wore nothing but a black lace bra, lace panties, and high healed hooker boots. Next to her on the coffee table was a four star meal and red vine. He had to admit the woman knew how to cook, she even knew how to catch his eye and get his full attention. But she didn't know how to earn back his love, she didn't even have a clue.

"Well, aren't you going to come in?" she asked, her voice - that unappealing twang that he had once liked but now was unable to stand - rang out of her mouth.

Without braking a step, he walked toward the couch and picked up the blanket that was draped over it and threw it at her. "Cover yourself up and get out of here."

Instead of doing as told, she threw the blanket back on the couch and crossed her arms across her chest. "I want to talk."

If Sam was the woman who was dressed like that, he wouldn't let her talk. He would only let her moan and scream and beg for more. But he wouldn't let her talk. With Courtney Mathews at his side, however, he ignored the half exposing bra and panties and concentrated on her eyes with ease. "What do you want?"

"I was happy when I was with you. . ."

She had started but he interrupted the deluded lie, "You were never happy with me. If you weren't crying over something, then you were complaining about something, and if it wasn't that it was your own insecurities that did us in."

"Maybe it would be different this time?"

"Maybe, but I don't want to find out."

"Why not?"

"We're over," he said simply and opened the door for her to leave.

---

Sonny Corinthos had gotten arrested for many crimes in his life, but if he got arrested for what he was doing at the moment it would top the list as the most embarrassing arrest. Therefore, he kept his eyes open, his ears vigilant, and his mind sharp. If he heard cops coming, he'd run.

He felt ashamed of the situation he was in, but he couldn't get out of it. It was like a drug, something you always wanted even if it was wrong for you. It was wrong for him!

His hands tightened on the slick hair of the woman who was doing her magic between his legs with her heated mouth. He didn't know her, not her name, not her age, nothing about her except that she charged twenty dollars for a blow job, fifty for anal, and seventy five for everything else.

He had taken the cheapest package. Not because he couldn't afford the other ones, but because he didn't know this woman. He knew nothing about her and certainly not her medical records. What if she had an STD? He was safer with a blow job. But he wanted more and he felt his control slipping.

The alley was dark, all it's lights shot up by street gangsters who roamed the streets. The ground was littered with trash. And the whore on her knees was dirty and trashy looking. The odor coming from her musty body suggested that she hadn't showered in days, weeks maybe.

The rain was coming down in soft pallets, chilling down his heated skin. The hair in his hands was wet and tangled, he tightened his grip and the woman bit into him accidently. He liked the rush.

Sonny rolled his head upward and then to a side as he watched the people walking. Whores, all the whores were trying to get paid by willing consumers. Then he saw a whore trying to get into a kid's pants. The boy didn't look like a day over fifteen, with a pale freckled face and red hair. Then Sonny realized who the kid was.

Michael!

His own son was walking the same streets as him.

If he were a responsible parent, Sonny would have shoved the whore aside, pulled up his pants, and went to knock some sense into his kid. But he didn't do it. He couldn't leave the whore while her job was still undone. He felt sick about who he had become, a man who couldn't go a minute without a thought or action of sex. He couldn't stop, couldn't attempt to. Instead, he lowered his head and hoped his son didn't recognize him. He didn't even bother to think of what his kid would be doing in that part of town. No, all he thought about was the dirty sin with the dirty woman.

---

He was sure it was his dad with his pants down and a woman working him. Though he wasn't surprised. It wasn't the first time that Michael had witnessed his father in random acts of sex. And the way his father went about the deed, Michael viewed it as a dirty practice instead of a beautiful affair.

The first time he had encountered his father in bed with someone was when he was ten and Sonny was screwing his mistress. It didn't stop after that. On numerous occasions Michael had seen his father work himself with a porn site in the internet or an adult movie on the big screen TV. Michael was supposed to be used to the sight of his father and his poor choice of affairs. But he wasn't used to it. Just the sight now burned his eyes. He wished he wouldn't have seen it but there was no time turning back. So instead, Michael pretended like he wasn't there to begin with. Instead, he walked where he had intended before seeing his father.

Michael kept rejecting hookers while on his way to the alley of his intended destination. Finally, as he arrived, he glanced into the eyes of his dealer.

"Hello, Michael," the businessman said.

"Hello, Mr. Alcazar. I'm expecting to make my purchase."

Lorenzo Alcazar smiled. He was a tall man with light skin and dark eyes and hair. In a way, he reminded Michael of Snow White, the male version. The only reason the prostitutes weren't surrounding him was because of the bodyguards who took their stands on protecting the dealer. Normally, the job of selling drugs was done by a middle man or a third party, but when it came to Michael, he expected to get the drugs straight for the source. He also needed leverage for possible blackmail in the future. Just in case.

"You're starting to sound like your father, except he threatens to kill me instead of buy from me. Which brings up an important note; why don't you buy drugs from your father's organization?"

"Because he has less chance to find out if I buy from you instead."

"That's a good deal, and good money for me."

Michael smiled as he took the bag of drugs and handed away the money. After his encounter with his father's worst enemy, Michael jogged back to the car.

"I couldn't find him," he said innocently to his grandfather, Allen Quartermaine.

Allen was a respected doctor at the Port Charles General Hospital. He was medium height and built with drown hair and eyes. Though the death of his son AJ, Michael's father, had left him weak and wounded, the man was still strong in his profession. And after AJ's death, Allen had become the grandfather that Michael needed, the grandfather that Sonny didn't want him to see.

There had been a huge fight between Sonny and Allen concerning Michael, but finally Sonny agreed, judging that the boy needed to have some contact with his biological grandparents. Allen took the chance did arranged to meet with Michael every weekend if possible. Thought Sonny wasn't happy, he unwillingly agreed.

And now Michael felt dirty for using his grandfather to buy drugs. He needed a ride and when Sonny left without saying where he was going, Michael grabbed at the chance to get Allen and lure him into thinking that they were searching for Sonny. Michael lured Allen to this same street.

At first, Allen didn't want to let him go in a neighborhood like this one, littered with whores, sex, and violence. But Michael carried a gun (against Allen's approval) and was protected. He made up a half true story that if something were to go wrong, Allen wouldn't be able to run fast enough. Allen agreed.

"Then where else could he be?" Allen asked as he turned on the ignition and shifted out to drive.

"I don't know. Maybe Dad just went out some place," Michael lied.

He felt dirty for lying, he felt sick and damaged. He was nothing more then a worthless thug's son and a bad one at that. As he sat in the car and looked out the windshield, Michael remembered about the knife he kept in his bedroom. Many times at night he thought about using that knife on himself, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. So instead, he poisoned himself with drugs, hoping to kill the hopelessness he felt.

He had to stop the pain.

He had to stop the pain.

He had to stop the pain.

Allen put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it slightly. "It will be okay, Michael, Sonny will come home. You don't have to worry about him, he's strong."

Michael felt dirty for using his grandfather to get drugs. The one person who actually started to center his life around Michael was being played by him, and Michael felt bad about it. He didn't want to do it but had no other choice.

He had to stop the pain.

---

Her fingers trembled as she held the phone in her hands. After hearing Jason proclaim his nervousness about the phone call to her, Sam had decided to take a chance on her sister. In one hand she held the phone well in the other she had the number, but yet she couldn't bring herself to dial it. Her heart was beginning to jump violently inside her chest and her head was hurting a little. It was all nerves, she told herself.

She considered giving up. But she couldn't, not now. She considered that maybe she didn't want to impose on the other woman's life. But if the roles were reversed, Sam might have wanted the distraction of a long lost sister.

There were many thoughts and decisions that came to mind, and finally she decided that she was only human and couldn't control every situation. She couldn't read Brenda's mind and know if the woman wanted a sister or not. For now, all Sam could do was act on herself and care about the feelings of others later.

She punched in the talk button on her phone. Then the first digit. And soon thereafter she had dialed the whole phone number.

The phone rang.

Her palms turned sweaty.

The phone rang for the second time.

Her heart pounded inside her chest.

The phone barely had time to ring for the third time when someone picked it up. "Hello?" a woman asked in a voice smooth like honey but strong like iron.

Her throat went dry, her voice caught in her throat. After all of the hard thinking and deciding that Sam had done. And the way she had played the conversation in her mind, she realized that the words did not come. She couldn't speak. Nor can she remember what she planned on saying.

"Hello?" the woman repeated and this time there was a hint of annoyance in her voice.

It was unreasonable to be so nervous, Sam thought. But then again, she was calling her own family whom she had never had the benefit of meeting, who may not want to meet her. She had to admit that the situation was stressful.

She had to say something. She couldn't let the woman put down the phone and hang up. Besides, maybe it wasn't even her sister who had answered. She cleared her throat. "May I," she muttered out, "speak to Miss Brenda Barrett?"

"This is she," the woman replied, and Sam sensed a hint of annoyance mixed with curiosity in her voice.

"I got your number from the Sweet Heaven of Children Adoption Agency," Sam started to explain.

"I've been expecting your call." She sensed happiness in Brenda's voice. "So you're the woman who might be my sister?"

"Yes," she answered. "I'm Sam McCall."

"I'm pleased to meet you," Brenda stated. "And I would really like to see you face to face."

Sam smiled to herself. She had expected the worst, prepared herself for the worst. It was a wasted effort, however, because the worst did not occur. She was happy about that. And her sister wanted to meet her. "I'd like that."

They continued talking as if they were friends who had known each other forever and had lost contact for a short time. Like old collage buddies reuniting for a good old fashioned 'how'd ya been' conversation.

---

"Get out," Jason said strictly at Courtney who still stood with her hands on her hips and her chest rising and falling as she took in deep breaths.

She looked angry, Jason noted as he glanced at her eyes. They burned with fury all her own.

"What kind of a husband throws out his wife when she surprises him with a homemade romantic dinner?" her voice vibrated with anger and possible tears.

"The type of ex-husband who had already moved on," he said, putting anthesis on the ex part.

For the first time, Courtney sat down with her hands in her lap and her head down. She shook her head slightly as if shaking off a troubling thought. When she looked up at him, she looked embarrassed. "I thought that if I came here looking like this you would want me back." Silence once again.

Jason sat down on the couch too. He wanted to know what was running though his ex-wife's mind. What she was thinking or feeling and why she behaved the way she did?

"Jax left me and I felt so alone. I never want to be alone." Once again she fell into silence, as if she were picking and choosing her next words. Then she spoke again. "I heard that you moved on, and that made me jealous." She quickly grabbed her coat, which went down to her knees, and put it on. She patted at her eyes to dry the tears and blushed as she looked at him. "I'm a mess. I was so upset that you moved on and I was left alone that I wanted to do something about it. I guess I made the wrong choice." She paused and inhaled a breath. Then rushed quickly to explain, "This isn't even like me but I don't know who I am anymore. I'm so damn confused." She looked up at him and looked deep into his eyes, her own blue ones crying out to him. "I remember when I used to be independent and strong. What happened to me? Back then I didn't need a man to complete me, now I do. I can't be by myself. I need companionship."

"You'll find it," for the first time he spoke.

"Are you sure? I feel like I'm getting old and time is running out. Two marriages of mine fell apart, will I always be alone?"

"They say the third time is the charm," Jason said. "You'll find your luck. You just have to believe that."

She nodded and remained silent.

As a knock on the door radiated throughout the penthouse, Jason and Courtney both looked up at that direction. They both rose to their feet. Jason approached the door and opened it. Sonny stood there, wet from the rain.

Sonny's eyes traveled to Courtney. Her coat had fallen open when she stood, exposing her intimate apparel. His eyes roamed her body, his eyes filled with lust.

Courtney blushed and rushed to zip up. Like a violent storm, she ran out of the penthouse and kept her eyes down, avoiding them both.

Jason was confused by the look that Sonny gave his sister. Jason also saw that same confusion reflect in Courtney's eyes.

"She's your sister, you know?" Jason reminded Sonny.

Sonny didn't respond, he looked at Jason and spoke of something else. "I found out that Alcazar is supplying drugs to Michael, I want him done with. You hear that? I want Lorenzo Alcazar dead!"

---

Author's Note: Since it's summer and less people are reading, updates will be coming slower. Please check out the website in my profile page to see when the updates will be coming. Also, don't forget to review and let me know what you thought of this chapter.


	13. Diagnosis of the Rain

**Chapter 13**

They say anger is a two edged sword that hurts both, the one angry and the one for whom anger is directed. Michael felt the stabs of that sword. His anger flared within him where minutes ago he had been calm.

"Look at that snotty bitch, she thinks she's better then anyone," one of the students at Port Charles High said.

It was lunch time and Michael's appetite was non existent. So he threw the orange that was on his tray and it hit that student straight in the jaw. "That's my friend you're talking about."

"And what you gonna do, huh?" the kid taunted. "Tell your daddy." At the chuckles of others he turned to the direction of his encouraging friends. "Yeah, I'm so scared of the big, bad Sonny Corinthos. I'm shaking in my boots."

Anger flared like a flame within an uncontrolled fire. It was as if the fire had been contained to a room, but then a window was opened and the flames grew tremendously. That was what his anger was like. He threw his sandwich at the student.

One thing led to another and the other student turned violent too. "Watch it, punk!" he shouted as he drenched Michael with a can of diet Pepsi that stuck to his skin like honey.

His fists clenched together in tight balls of anger. In agony, Michael rose to his feet and hit the annoying screwball square in the jaw.

The other kid flinched in pain that overtook his face. The previously milky skin was not red from impact and promising dark blue and green shades that would be a tell tale sign of the fight that was about to take progress. "You fuck," the other kid yelled in frightened anger and rage of his own. "You slimy little fuck."

The other kid stood, his hands on his sides were shaking with the need to hit someone. His chest rose and fell as his breathing intensified, yet he held his sanity in place and kept cool. Even tough his friends were urging his to rub Michael's nose into a wall, to kick the shit out of the red haired boy, the other student stood silent, as if considering every angle before taking a hit. "What's wrong with you?" He asked Michael as if attempting to understand the reason behind the attack.

Michael didn't answer. Not because he thought the answer was self explanatory or because he hated the kid. It was because he had forgotten the reason behind his own attack. Now as he stood, staring at the object of his anger, he couldn't remember why he was so angry to being with.

"Huh! Come on, are you slow or something?"

The implication that he was mentally challenged hurt Michael more then he would ever confess to it hurting him. He placed his hands on the other boys chest and shoved him hard. The boy's back slammed into a wall and a moan of pain reached out of his lips and into the air around them. The screaming moan hung in the air for a minute before the kid returned force.

"I tried to be nine to you," the kid said angrily as he shook with rage that flew though his skin like a poisonous snake. "But if you wanna fight, then lets fight." He shoved his fist into Michael's face which hurt like hell itself.

He felt his skin burn from the impact of the hit, he felt as if his bones were going to crash from the impact and intensity. But he couldn't give up. Obviously it wasn't an important fight, why else would he forget it's motive? But none the less, Michael couldn't give up. He shoved his fist at the other boys face and when he felt the slick stickiness of blood on his fingers, he smiled. Yes, strange as it would appear to be, Michael Corinthos smiled. The blood reminded him of the worthlessness he felt toward himself. It was as if a physical manifestation of his emotional pain. But in a few minutes, he forgot about the blood and the feeling it gave him. All that he remembered was to fight, and as the adrenaline pumped through him, he liked that feeling.

---

"What were you thinking?" Molly asked, her voice low and worried, slightly scared. It shook and vibrated as she spoke. Her curly hair was tied together in a ponytail, her green eyes worried and vigilantly examined him. Her arms were on her hips and she tried to appear intimidating even though she knew she was failing miserably.

She glanced at his bandaged hands and the blood that somehow managed to leak through. Molly shivered and hugged her arms across her chest. She felt her heart contract in some strange emotions and she glanced at his face. She realized she was scared of him. Scared of his ability to fight like there was no tomorrow. Scared of his ability to avoid reason and act on instinct. She was also scared of that endearing feeling that made her want to touch him and be touched by him, the silly feeling known as attraction.

She shook her head as if to shake off the feeling. But still it refused to go away. Nonetheless, she tried.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Michael said calmly, not feeling or seeing her inner turmoil.

She remembered the first time she had seen him, and the way he had behaved at Dr. McCall's office. Even then he was a little crazy. He was damaged somehow, and she wanted to solve the mystery of him but at the same time she feared what he was. He was, after all, proving to be a danger to himself and others.

She took a few steps backward, unsure on how to behave when in the eyes of a boy with problems, mental problems.

"Don't walk away from me, Molly." He was sad, his eyes were troubled, and he looked as if he was about to give up on something. Maybe on himself. Thought she couldn't figure him out, Molly knew there was a self hate thing with him, she felt it. At times he seemed arrogant and confident and happy, but at others she felt as if he didn't like himself, or like he hated himself. She couldn't explain those mood-swings, though she was sure Dr. McCall could.

She took another step backwards and saw the pleading eyes of Michael Corrinthos.

"Don't be scared of me," he said.

"You don't even know why you got into that fight, how could I not be scared of you?" She walked away.

---

She had just closed the door and opened her file for her current patient when the phone rang. For a minute, Sam considered ignoring it.

_I tried to call you, but you didn't pick up. I needed you, and just like everyone else, you turned away._

And once again she remembered the last words of her first patient. She wondered if she will ever recover.

The client gazed at her as if waiting for her to do something. Her hair was long and her attention snapped to playing with it, indicating for Sam that the girl didn't mind having an interruption. The girl didn't speak, she never did. Not because she can't, but because she didn't want to.

Nonetheless, Sam still excused herself while picking up the phone, and the girl simply nodded and went back to her hair and ignoring the doctor.

"Hello?" Sam spoke pleasantly.

"Hi, Sam," Jason said and she instinctively smiled. The smile was born of admiration and a little more, Sam realized. An intense attraction and desire to be touched and to touch. "I need your help," he said in a damaged voice full of worry and sorrow.

"What's wrong," she asked as her smile fell from her lips so quickly that even her patient rose her eyes to see.

"Something's seriously wrong with Michael. He just beat up a student at his school and this isn't the first time. Both times he forgot as to why he got into the fight and the other students claim he just attacked spontaneously."

Sam opened her appointment book and noticed that the pages were filled. She turned to the next day's plans and stared. "Michael has an appointment tomorrow."

"I know but I don't think this can wait, Michael's parents are going out of their minds with worry."

If it were some other patient, Sam would have either urged them to keep their old appointment, or canceled tomorrow morning's appointment and put the patient in. But this was slightly personal since she admired Jason Morgan. So after one last glance at the appointment book, she said. "My last appointment of the day it at five o'clock. By six I'll be free. Come to my office at six."

Typically, she would go home at six, but there was nothing that waited for her. She had no husband, no children, and no pets. Nothing to worry about or take care of. And besides, working overtime meant that she'd get to see the man of her affections more.

After one hour of trying to get a word out of her uncooperative patient, Sam had a few other appointments and the time finally arrived. The first one through the door was Jason and she instinctively smiled upon seeing his face. The relationship was wrong for reasons she refused to think of and accept.

He had on a black leather jacket, the one he always wore, and his usual grey t-shirt and blue jeans. His hair was damp from the rain that didn't seem to ever go away, and his blue eyes were slightly grey from worry.

Michael trailed him and the first thing Sam noticed was the bandages on his hands, the specks of blood that leaked through, and the fear on his face. He didn't want to be there, she notices.

Following him came an unknown woman with long blonde hair, beautiful smile, and light pink lipstick. She looked like someone who took care of herself and had the money to do so. Her fashion was expensive and selective. Sam assumed the woman was Michael's mother, Carly.

Trailing her came Michael's father, Sonny. He was the same as the last time she had seen him. His smile was huge and slightly inappropriate for the situation. Out of the whole group he looked like the only one who wasn't entirely worried. He looked like his mind was someplace else.

His perfect smile showed two perfect dimples on each side of his mouth and Sam returned the smile out of courtesy. She motioned everyone on a couch and a few chairs, and officially introduced herself to Carly.

"Michael got into two fights over the last week," Carly started to explain, her blue eyes filled with unshed tears of worry and weakness that found it's way to her. Though from looking at the woman, Sam assumed she was anything but weak. None the less, the woman looked stressed and that could cause temporary weakness.

"And what was the reason for both of the fights?" Sam asked directing her gaze to Michael.

He shrugged.

"Here's the thing," Jason spoke up. "After the fights he forgets why he did it except that he did the deed."

She looked at each of the faces and noticed that Michael wasn't exactly comfortable being in a room full of people he cared about. She knew that if she did ask him questions about how he felt, he would probably lie or not answer at all. He'd do that because he would be too afraid to hurt his family. So she did what she had to do. Sam opened the yellow pad where she kept her notes about Michael and directed her gaze to his whole family. "I want to speak to Michael alone for a moment. Would you mind stepping outside for a minute?"

Carly was the first to stand and she directed her gaze to Sam and gave a trembling smile. "If it helps Michael, I'll be glad to go outside. But I don't see how it will help."

"Right now, he might not want to answer questions honestly because he's afraid the answers will hurt you all."

"That's crazy. I could handle whatever he wants to say."

"I know you can," Sam explained. "But he would feel more comfortable talking to a stranger alone as opposed having someone he cares about listening."

Carly seemed to be lost in thought, but eventually she gazed at Sonny and said, "Let's go."

Jason didn't need to be told where to go and why. He understood the situation and left the room instantaneously.

Once the door was closed behind the departing family, Sam turned to Michael who looked instantly more relaxed. "Why did you get into the fights?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't lying when I said that I don't remember. I don't."

"Not even a little of it? Like what triggered it?"

He shook his head and didn't look like he was lying. His face was marked with lines of confusion. There was no use of asking that same question again. She remembered the day that Jason said he was staying up late. She decided to ask about his sleeping patterns. Sometimes, a person's sleeping patters told more about their physical and mental health conditions then the verbal answers. "How well did you sleep last night?"

"I went to bed early."

"What time?" Usually, when dealing with teens, one in the morning could be considered early to them.

"Eight."

That was early. Too early for a normal teen. But then again, maybe he was tired that night. "And are you feeling refreshed right now, or are you feeling tired?"

He yawned. "Tired. It seems that no matter how much I sleep, I could never get enough of it. I'm constantly tired."

But then there was that night that he was awake past three in the morning, according to Jason. When was that? Last week? Yes, last week. "And how was your sleeping pattern last week?"

Michael thought for a moment, letting his mind travel to the past. "I don't think I was this tired last week. Actually, I couldn't fall asleep last week."

"So you stayed up late last week?"

"Yes."

"Did you have trouble waking up last week?"

"No. I woke up hours before the alarm clock would ring."

"And this week. Yesterday. Did you have difficulty waking up?"

He nodded and yawned again. "I couldn't seem to open up my eyes even if I tried."

She wrote that all down in her yellow note pad.

"Lets talk about something else," she said and thought about what Jason had told her about Michael's drug use. "Are you on drugs?"

"Like medication? No."

She shook her head. "I mean, illegal drugs. Controlled substances."

He blushed slightly and gazed down. "Yes."

"What was the last time you took a hit of drugs?"

"This morning," his voice was low when he said it, which only meant that he was ashamed of what he was doing.

"And how much drugs did you take last week?"

"None. I only use drugs when I'm feeling bad. Last week I felt good."

That didn't surprise her, not at all. She was pretty sure where his diagnosis was going and the only thing that struck her as odd was the time limit that it took her to arrive at the conclusion. But then again, she kept asking him all the wrong questions from the beginning. Now, an idea on how to get to his heart of hearts came to her mind and she decided to act on it. After all, she wanted to be sure her diagnosis was correct. "Michael, I'm going to tell you a word and you tell me the first thing that jumps into your mind. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed.

"Friendship."

"Fake."

His answer didn't surprise her, but the reasoning behind it might. "Why would you say that friendship is fake?"

He shrugged but didn't come forward with an answer.

"Do you think that all friendships are fake?"

"No."

"Then why did you say that friendships are fake?"

Once again he didn't come forward with an answer. Unlike her previous client of the day, he didn't speak not because he didn't want to but because he had no idea what to say. She saw the way he tried to glue it all together and come up with an answer, but nothing came to his mind.

"Do you think all friendships that you are involved with are fake?"

He nodded.

"Why do you think that?"

He seemed to be lost in thought again, but this time it seemed like he was putting together words and sentences. She didn't rush into her next question. Instead, Sam waited for him to speak, to say anything. Anything at all.

Finally, the time came and he opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it again after no words were spoken. He cleared his throat, not because it was dry or constricted but because of nervousness. Whatever he wanted to tell her was personal, Sam knew that. He was afraid to tell her, afraid of what she might think. "It's okay, Michael, you could trust me," she urged him, giving him comfort and letting him know that she really cared.

"Who would want to be my friend?" He asked. "I'm a worthless looser."

She wasn't surprised by his answer, but it did stab her like a sharp knife right through the chest. No child should ever feel worthless. No one should every feel worthless. It pained her that while she did help many people who felt similarly, she couldn't help them all. Even as she tried she couldn't help them all. Once again, like all the time recently, she remembered her first patient. She wasn't able to help her.

_I tried to call you, but you didn't pick up. I needed you, and just like everyone else, you turned away._

No, Sam wasn't able to help the girl. She was too busy to help her. And still, many years later, her own guilt haunted her.

"You're not worthless," she said instantly shutting out the memories of the past. "You have people who care about you. Your family, your friends. Me."

"I'm a burden to my family. And my friends wouldn't even miss me if I disappeared. Face it, I'm not important to anyone." Tears lined the features of his face. His eyes liquefied and he shut them to prevent the tears from falling. The gesture didn't stop the process, however. Tears slipped from between his closed eyelids and ran down his cheeks. Michael wiped them away instantly, blushing slightly as if embarrassed for falling apart in front of a complete stranger.

She stood from her chair. Sam couldn't just stand back and watch the boy cry, it wasn't part of her nature, wasn't part of who she was. As a shrink, it was part of her job to stand back and watch with a cold and observing eye. That wasn't her. She couldn't freeze her heart and do her job as impersonally as if watching a boring movie. It wasn't her. She had to feel and empathize.

Slowly, she crept over to the couch where Michael sat. He looked like a little boy. Though he was fifteen, he didn't look a day over five at the moment. He was as broken and neglected as a five year old.

She sat down next to him, cradled him in her arms and lend her shoulder for him to cry on. She expected him to surrender to the tears as soon as she had touched it. It was seen in her years of experience that children needed to be cradled while they cried. Usually, tears turned to sobbing at the first contact of someone who cared.

Not this time.

This case was different. Michael was different. He dried his tears and pushed her away as she tried to hug him.

"I'm okay," he said. "I don't need your fake sympathy."

"Fake?" Sam asked and for the first time in the evening she was actually a little startled.

"Oh, come on," he said and gazed at her, rolling his red rimmed eyes. "Ever since the first meeting all you cared about was my father and not my health. You only kept asking questions about him."

She nodded. "That's true. According to the other doctors who have tried to treat you, you only started becoming moody and unmanageable after your biological father died. I want to know the source of it. That's why I keep asking those questions. And though you have refused to answer, I could tell my your hostility and body language that you feel guilty for his death."

"I don't feel guilty!" he shouted unconvincingly. "I didn't do it."

"But you were there when it happened, weren't you?"

He stared at her and instantly his eyes flooded with tears again. "I tried to stop it. I tried to stop that evil doctor who injected him with that medication. But I was afraid he would hurt me," he sobbed out. "I was. . . I was afraid he would. . . kill me too!"

She hugged him again and this time he didn't push her away. "It's okay, Michael. You have no reason to blame yourself. You have no reason to feel guilty. You protected yourself in that moment and that is all anybody could have asked off you."

He nodded unconvincingly and continued to sob. Sam got a tissue from a Kleenex box and gave it to him. He cleaned his eyes and blew his nose. Then Michael continued crying for a few more minutes. Sam cradled and rocked him back and forth as if he were a little child. She was starting to care for him, just as she always started to care for her patients. As she rocked him, she wondered what it would be like to have a child of her own. God knew how much she wanted to be a mother. Jeremy would have been her answer to parenthood, she was ready for that. Strangely, that was one of the reasons why she wanted to marry him, he wanted children as much as she did. But then he died, taking away her dreams with him.

Now she had Jason. He wasn't a husband, and she doubted he wanted children. She knew she couldn't come to him and ask him to knock her up. She would have to put her dreams on hold. For now, she treated every patient like her child. Well, almost every. She couldn't treat Michael like her child for varies reasons that she refused to think about.

After Michael stopped crying and calmed down, she asked for his permission to allow his family back into the room. He agreed with a small nod.

Sam opened the door and watched as they all rose from their chairs that lined the hall. Jason, who was talking on his cell phone, murmured a few words and hung up. They all walked into the room and gave one hard gaze at the boy.

"He's been crying," Carly remarked and she didn't sound too pleasant. Sam understood her behavior. The woman was worried for her son and any indication that he was in pain caused her pains of her own. "What did you do to him? Say to him? That would make him cry?"

"We had a breakthrough," Sam said.

Jason turned to her, he was the first to do so. "Did you find what's wrong with him?"

"Yes, there's a diagnosis," she said as she walked behind her desk and took a look at her notes. "Please, sit," she indicated.

They all sat without argument. Carly wrapped her arms around her son and rocked him just as Sam had done moments ago. Carly loved her son, Sam could tell. It was written in the body language, in the worry of the eyes, in the way she smiled at the boy, reassuring him that she will always care.

Jason rubbed Michael's back softly, showing his own side of care and love. He was there for Michael, Sam knew that from all the chats they had about him. On the night that Jason woke her from her sleep, even then he was thinking and worrying about Michael. He had shared with her multiple times information about Michael. He had always voiced his worry with her, given her information that Michael had refused to share. Now, he cared about the boy just like an uncle should.

No! He cared about the boy more then an uncle would. He was like a second father to the boy.

Sonny, on the other hand. . . Well, his behavior scared Sam. He rubbed Michael's knee like a caring father, but his eyes were on Sam. He wasn't looking at her as at a source of information. Instead his eyes were full of lust. It was as if she was standing naked, as if he were undressing her with his eyes. She felt uncomfortable and blushed slightly. He smiled at her as she blushed, as if he had known what she was thinking.

Sam cleared her throat, gathering every piece of professionalism she had in her. "According to all of our chats, his mood swings, his behavior, and his drug and sleeping patterns, Michael has bipolar disorder."

"What's that?" Carly asked. "Is it serious? Is there a cure? Will he need more therapy? Will he be hospitalized?"

Sam absorbed those questions and then explained it. "Bipolar disorder is also known as manic depression." She opened up a drawer in her desk and pulled out four brochures that gave general information about the disorder. After handing it to all of them, she continued. "Manic depression come in two mayor mood-swings. A person swings from the manic phase, which is a high, energetic, constantly happy phase, to a depressed phase. In the depressed phase, the person feels helpless, worthless, sometimes is prone to suicide or uncontrollable fits of rage."

At the mention of suicide, Carly's eyes filled with worried tears and her hand covered her trembling mouth. Jason's jaw clenched together showing his own worry. Sonny didn't move an inch.

"How do his sleeping patters come into play here?" Jason asked.

"When a person is in a manic phase, he or she doesn't need sleep. They could go twenty four hours without sleeping and not feel tired. Though they do sleep, two to three hours is usually enough for them to feel fully rested because their level of energy is constantly high. And when the person is in a depressive state, they need sleep. They can't seem to stay awake. The lack of energy makes them feel sleepy even after a night full of sleep. Then in a depressive state, the person tends to sleep more and be more agitated before going to bed and after waking up. They also find it hard to wake up as to where in a manic state they have a difficulty falling asleep."

"Drugs," Sonny said. "Why was he using drugs?"

"When he was in his manic phase, a week ago, actually, he didn't need and didn't use illegal drugs. While in a manic phase, the person develops a natural high that takes the place of drugs. When in a depressive stage, the person wants the high back and tries to get it the only other way possible, and that is by taking controlled substances."

"What causes it and is there a cure?" Carly asked.

"Bipolar disorder is caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain. Sometimes it's spontaneous, and sometimes its genetic. Though there is no real cure, there are medications that could take away his symptoms and let him live a pretty normal life."

"And for how long will he have to take those medications?" Jason asked.

Sam glanced down. "The rest of his life. Or until science comes up with a cure."

"I don't care about the price but I want the best, safest, and most effective medication with as little side effects as possible for him," Carly demanded.

Sam pulled out her prescription stationary and started writing. "I will prescribe some medication for him and after two months of taking it, his mood and emotions should go back to normal. If it doesn't, come see me. Also, he can't stop taking the medication or he will go back to the disorder."

"What about the stuttering?" Jason asked. "Last week he was stuttering some. Is that part of the manic depression or is that something else?"

"It can be," Sam said. "When a person is bipolar and in a manic phase, their minds are sometimes filled with endless thoughts. When talking, those ever changing thoughts distract them and they stutter while trying to remember their original thoughts." She ripped the prescription out of her notepad and handed it to Carly.

"How come it took so many doctors to diagnose him?" Sonny asked.

"Because he didn't start out with it. When he was visiting those other doctors, he was haunted by guilt issues over his father's death. The manic depression only appeared when his hormones started changing in his adolescent years. As first, the symptoms would be hard to separate from the typical teenage mood-swings, but as time goes by the symptoms become more defined and more accurate making a diagnosis easier."

When the room fell silent and she didn't hear any more questions thrown at her, Sam asked, "Anymore questions?"

"None that I could think of," Carly said. "You've been of great help, Dr. McCall."

"Thanks for your help," Sonny said as he squeezed her hand in a formal handshake and let his fingers linger on her flesh a moment too long.

They said their goodbyes and left but Jason stood behind. He rubbed his face with his hands, the worry and tiredness was visible in him. "I don't know what to say," he finally said. "I'm shocked. He's too young."

"The average age for a person to be diagnosed with bipolar disorder is from fifteen to twenty five," Sam informed.

Jason looked at her. "You're smart." Then he glanced away. "God, I feel bad for Michael, it must be hard living with his emotions in a twist."

She nodded and was pleasantly surprised to see him thinking about Michael more then he did about himself. She loved the selflessness about him.

Loved?

Did her mind really go in that direction? No, it couldn't! She didn't even know him all that well. She couldn't. There would be complections.

"Listen," he said interrupting her thoughts. "I know this is short notice but my family is making a huge dinner tonight and they invited me to join. I would really like it if you would come. My family is crazy but I want you to meet them, and I want them to meet you."

Her throat constricted. Usually, when a man introduced a woman to his family he was somewhat serious about the relationship. Was this relationship really taking a serious turn? She was too afraid to think. When it came to love, bad luck followed her. Maybe it would be wise for her to just let him go before they would both get hurt? But then again, wouldn't they get hurt now?

The thoughts were distracting, challenging. And his eager eyes awaited an answer. She couldn't let him down. Sam smiled as she said, "I'd love to meet your family."

There was that word again. Love. What could it possibly mean?

---

Author's note: It has been a month since I last updated, and I really missed writing, updating, and getting to read your feedback. I hope you all liked this chappy. We finally get to see what's wrong with Michael and we're getting to see more of the twisted Sonny. Also, I don't like the way GH is starting to write Carly (or any character for that matter) so in my fic I wrote her as a loving mom. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and tell me what you thought of it! I love reading the people's opinions. And thanks to everyone who has reviewed to this story so far.


	14. A Suspect in the Rain

**Chapter 14**

Leaving the house wasn't hard. No matter how dysfunctional, how well protected, and how paranoid and insane his family was, he still found a way around all their protection. The guard outside his room could sit there all night, for all that Michael cared, but he escaped through the window. It was actually very easy. All he did was strip his bed down to its mattress and tie all the sheets together. Then he tied one end to the bed leg and threw the other out the window. It didn't reach the bottom but it was close. He had to fall down the last two feet, but the jump was so minimal that he didn't feel it's intensity or significance.

Then escaping the guards outside was harder. They were stationed at the gates, preventing anyone from coming in or going out. Harder, but not impossible. He devised a plan that was rather simple, avoid the gates. With his hooded jacket on, he covered the back of his head out of criminal instinct. When criminal intent ran in the family, it wasn't awkward to have a sense of criminal self preservation even though one had never committed a serious offence.

He jogged to the back side of the house where no guards were stationed. Michael glanced at all the windows that lined the wall and noted that the downstairs livingroom windows were closed, the blinds and curtains drawn shut, and the lights on. Voices were coming from inside that identified Sonny and Carly. Both sounded worried, both sounded hopeful and hopeless at the same time. They were as confused as he was, he realized.

He kept his back to the red brick wall, his eyes slowly darted up to the camera that was mounted into the side of the house and took measured rounds of the west and south side of the estate. The camera turned toward him and he quickly laid on the ground, beside the trunks of the bushes that hid him from vigilant eyes that viewed the taped material. Then once the camera turned to the west, away from him, he sprang up and made a wild dash for the high fence. He climbed it quickly, and as soon as he was over it, he laid down on the ground, once again hidden by bushes that were perfectly planted in the right spots. He counted off the seconds until he was sure the camera couldn't see him and once again he made a wild dash through the woods to the other side of the park.

Now that he had escaped, he had nothing to do. His escape from the house had a simple reason, he was tired of his parents treatment of him. They revolved from treating him like a sick little child to treating him like a miracle. He assumed the treatments were caused by love and guilt. He knew his parents loved him, even his father did in his own, twisted way. They treated him as if he were ill do to their love. They wanted to show that they cared. And their guilt, the guilt that sprang an affect of their neglect. And in their guilt, they treated him like a miracle. And during neither treatment did they bother to ask him of the way _he_ wanted to be treated. And all he really wanted was the normality of the previous nights. Sure, the past wasn't so normal either, but it was better then now. Back in the past his parents had found their own lives and forgot about him for the most part, he was used to his privacy and independence. Now, he had neither. It was as if he were a circus clown under arrest; all watching him with fear and fascination.

So his escape was necessary, his destination, however, unknown. Here in the park, he sat down on the bench and breathed in the night air. The rain had finally stopped, and according to the forecast the sky will be clear and dry for the next few days. But then the rain will start again, or so they kept saying.

In the cool, stillness of the night, he took in his surroundings. The trees were still green, and the late August air was turning into September after midnight. It felt cooler though, it felt like late October, early November.

He glanced at the narrow side street that separated the park into two parks, and then beyond the separation was another patch of woods. Beyond the woods, he knew from walking in that direction a few other times, was Molly's place.

Molly wasn't rich like his family, and so she lived in the poorer part of town. Not that she was poor. No, Molly was upper middle class as to where he was upper class by society standards.

It was late, and the sky was dark. But was it too late to visit Molly?

No, it was only eight thirty and he assumed she didn't turn in to bed at least some after nine. From a few conversations on the school grounds during the week, he had concluded that she was an avid watcher of the news. The news normally didn't start until nine, some channels until ten. He knew she would be awake. And so he started through the street, the other park, and the woods. He was going to her, and for once in a long time he felt happy and almost normal. The key word, however, was 'almost'. And 'almost' never counted.

---

She breathed heavily as she reached the grand estate, bigger then any she had seen in her life, and definitely bigger then at any she had been too. Was that where her boyfriend's family lived? Wow.

"Relax," Jason said with a wide smile that perched his lips, he seemed amused at her nervousness.

"I can't, this house is huge. You must have a very impressive family."

He placed his hand on the small of her back and drew her closer to him. "They're not impressive, they're insane."

"I think I'll be a judge of that," she said.

He knocked on the door softly and a hubbub of noise ascended to them. The door was slowly opened and a lady with a french maid outfit stood. She looked nothing like a french maid, though. Her hair was a dull brown, not blond, her eyes grey, not blue, and her figure full, not skinny. Besides the looks, her personality didn't match one of a cliche french maid either. She wasn't a sex kitten but a woman with an attitude and that showed when he greeting words were, "What?" Then she smiled at Jason. "Aww, Mr. Morgan, you would have better luck getting food out of a fast food place then here."

Jason seemed to be looking beyond her and quickly he pulled Sam down, saying, "Duck!"

Above her head, a chicken flew! A dead, burned chicken at that.

"Oh, the cook gets nervous when company arrives. He loses his head and forgets how to cook," the maid explained. "The gardener will dispose of the chicken in the morning." She extended her hand at Sam, "I'm Alice, I'm the maid here."

Jason leaned into her ear and whispered, "And the only one whose sane."

Sam smiled and tried not to laugh as she shook the woman's hand and introduced herself. "I'm Sam."

"Pleased to meet you, Sam, I heard many great things about you."

Suddenly, Alice was shoved out of the way and a brown haired older woman of about fifty stood in the doorway. She had on a green sweater and green pants, her body rather manly and Sam assumed so was her personality, strong and independent, hard and at times unyielding. Normally she was a pretty good judge of character, she hoped she was right now.

The woman looked at Sam with a scolding eye and traveled through her body as if taking an inventory. Under her breath she murmured, "Red leather jacket, black leather shoes, black tight jeans, hoop earing." She looked up at Sam and spoke loudly, "I'm Tracy, and you must be Jason's latest bed bunny."

Bed bunny? Since starting their relationship, Jason hasn't pushed her to have sex with him, though she wanted to. He never mentioned intimacy or rushed her into bed. She had a difficulty assuming that he would be the type of man who would use a woman in the bedroom. But why would this woman indicate that he only dated woman of loose morals who only surrendered in bed and were useless elsewhere?

"Oh, come on, Tracy, be nice," a woman said as she came to the door. She was blonde and was a little taller then Sam. The woman looked pleasant and respectable. "I'm Monica, Jason's mother, and why don't you both come in?"

"You're inviting her in?" Tracy asked as if finding it unbelievable.

Jason led Sam inside and Alice closed the door behind them. The estate was decorated in woods and feminine floral, light pinks, light browns, and pale ivory colors.

"Yes," Monica answered, "what's wrong with this one?"

Once again, Sam got the implication that Jason slept around with many woman. And he had said that he had been married twice! She wasn't so sure what she saw in him was who he really was. And maybe he had secrets. Well of course he had secrets! So did she, so did everyone else. She was angry at herself for even thinking about it, doubting him or their relationship. First of all, she had never been one of those woman who listened to the talk of others when making a commitment to a relationship. Secondly, they weren't even that serious. They hadn't even slept together!

"She's wearing red leather," Tracy said as if that would indicate anything about a person's personality. How outrageous!

"Yeah, and you're wearing poison green," Monica remarked. "I guess we should beware of you or you might kill us."

Tracy had no response for that and soon everyone's attention was turned to the two other people who came into the foyer. One was a teenaged boy with wild, crazy hair and a funny grin on his face. The other was an elder man with brown hair and a chubby physique. His head was balding and he walked with a limp. In a way, both of the arrivals looked a little like Tracy, and Sam assumed they were more related then all the other people in the estate.

The man came to her and introduced herself, "I'm Allen, Jason's father. I'm pleased to meet you and glad that my son found someone whom he's happy about."

"Hah," Tracy burst out unbelievingly.

"You have to excuse my sister. We've tried to dispose of her but like a stray cat she keeps coming back," Allen informed. "And I was just informed by the cook that dinner is ready in the dinning hall."

"Yeah, why don't we all go eat with the intruder," Tracy murmured and dropped her hand on the boy's with wild hair shoulder. She looked at him lovingly, though her attitude was snarly.

"Oh, be nice, Tracy. This lady doesn't bite, unlike you," Alice said and Sam realized that personal attacks were a way of life under that roof, but underneath it all they still loved each other. She also noticed that Tracy was very possessive of her family and didn't want anyone to take them away from her. Sure, she went about it the wrong way by pushing everyone away, but underneath it all she just wanted love and attention. Sam assumed that maybe Tracy was the bad kid in the family as a child and the parents didn't favor her more then they did Allen, maybe she was a little resentful of that. But underneath ut all, Tracy had a tender heart.

They all went into the dinning-room where an elder man; tall and strong, sat at the head of the table. He introduced himself as Edward, the man of the house, and instructed everyone to sit. As Sam had sat down, she noticed that thought the plates and the food was there, there was no silverware to eat with.

Alice stood by the table and observed the same thing. "We tried to find the silverware but it looks like someone stole it. Emily should be back from the store any minute."

Sam remembered that Emily was Jason sister, though she had never met the woman.

"We have a crazy person in the mist here," Edward informed and everyone looked at Tracy. "No, not her. Crazier."

"Like that's possible," Alice murmured under her breath.

"Someone has stolen every piece of silverware in the middle of the night. And most of the bathroom mirrors were broken a few weeks ago. We just finished placing in new ones." He turned to Sam. "You're a mental doctor, right?"

"Yes."

"What would you have to say about missing forks and knives, and broken mirrors?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I would have to observe everyone to get to the matter."

"Yeah, but I was asking if the person who did this could be crazy or is it just a prank?"

"The silverware could be a prank," Sam informed, "But the mirrors are something deeper."

They all heard the door open to the house and a young lady entered the room with shopping bags in her hands. She had shiny brown hair and hazel eyes, tall and lean with delicate features.

"Emily, meet Sam," Jason said and the woman came closer. "Sam, that's my sister."

Sam looked at Emily, and Emily stared back at her, stared. "You look familiar, like I've seen you before," Emily said through her puzzlement.

"Maybe at the hospital, you both work there," Jason informed while Alice took the bags from Emily's hands.

"Finally, some silverware. I'll have the cook wash them and everyone could eat." Alice walked out of the dinning room.

"Nice to meet you," Emily said extending her hand, still her features were bewildered, but she wiped off that expression and turned to the rest of her family and the only empty seat at the table, which just so happened to be opposite Sam. "What's for dinner?"

---

"What are you doing here?" Molly asked as she peered out the window at the red haired boy that smiled back at her innocently.

"Come outside," Michael ordered.

"Are you crazy?" she asked against the rattling wind that was blowing at her hair and went inside her bedroom.

"Yes, and I need someone to talk to, so come on."

"No," she said.

"Please."

"No," she repeated.

Michael stripped away the innocent smile and glared into her eyes. "Come on, Molly, please. I need someone to talk to."

"You have a family and you have your friends. You have enough people to talk to."

"And none of them understand me."

She sighed and he liked the sing-song sound that escaped her pretty mouth. He realized he was fascinated with her in a way that he didn't know possible, but now he knew the meaning of a childhood crush. He had a crush on her and he wanted to pursue it. His growing, adolescent body was hormone packed and looking for release. Those hormones found their way into his body now, acting on impulse, he stared at her and imagined what it would be like to hold her, hug her, kiss her. Desires formed in the pit of his stomach and he was startled by his own reaction to her.

"Come on," he urged. "No one will even see you leaving."

"How?"

"Jump out, I'll catch you."

She rolled her green eyes. "Yeah, right."

"Okay then," Michael said, "You can get a rope or tie some things up and descend down here."

She rolled her eyes again. "You're really not practical, are you? I'll be back in a minute."

She had left the window open so Michael didn't bother throwing rocks at it as he had done when it was closed. That was his attempt to get her attention and it had worked. Now, he stood silently and watched as she approached the window once again, this time she had a coat on her.

Molly sat on the window sill and then crossed her legs outside and lowered her body. She stuck the toe of one of her boots into a hole in the brick structure, the other boot into another, and slowly she went down that way. When she was down enough to touch, Michael wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her away from the brick structure. Her breath caught in her throat until he put her down on the ground and she breathed out.

Michael had noticed that as she was climbing down, none of the neighbors had seemed to notice or care. Her apartment building was noisy, most of the windows had lights on and the blinds drawn shut.

"You look like you've used this escape route before," he commented.

"I have."

"Haven't any of your neighbors or parents caught you?"

"There used to be one pesky neighbor who was very protective of me but he disappeared. It's like one day he just vanished. Mom says that he probably lived somewhere else but used to apartment as an escape from his home."

"Like a home away from home."

"Exactly." She sighed.

They talked about many things when they arrived at a park and sat down on a bench. Their conversations ranged from school to the future to normality or lack of it.

"So you have bipolar disorder?" Molly asked.

"Yeah, I just found out earlier today. Dr. McCall prescribed some medication for me that I have to take everyday. She says I may be able to live a productive and normal life if I stick to the meds."

"That's good," she said.

"Why?"

"At least you know what's wrong with you. I get these panic attacks that just come and go out of nowhere. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Haven't you talked to Dr. McCall about them?"

She shook her head.

"Why not?"

"I'm afraid she might find some insanity."

Michael shook his head slightly and glanced down. "I was afraid of that too, but she was so nice when telling me what as wrong with me. She made it sound like the disorder is a common and explainable thing. Not even once did she mention insanity."

"That's because bipolar disorder is a disorder and not an insanity."

Maybe," he said as he turned to face her and stared into her eyes. "What are you thinking right now?" he asked after a moment of silence.

She glanced at him, her eyes stared deep into his. "Nothing."

"Absolutely nothing?"

She smiled at him and blushed slightly. "Well, I'm thinking about something I shouldn't be thinking about. And how about you? What are you thinking?"

He leaned in closer to her and whispered, "I'm thinking about something I shouldn't be thinking about too."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Close your eyes."

She did and he instantly felt nervous for what he was about to do. His hand shook as he placed it on her waist while his other hand held a strong grip on the bench. He leaned it forward and turned his face the way he saw couples do in the movies. He assumed they did that so both of the people's noses wouldn't collide. He also knew that in the movies people closed their eyes, and when his face was close enough to hers, he closed his eyes too.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he said in a whisper. "I've never done this before."

"I thought you have slept with all the woman in the world, at least that's what I keep hearing in school," she said, her eyes still closed, her face only inches away from his.

"Rumors, all of it," he said and brought his face closer. His lips brushed against her, and when her mouth parted, he knew that she had kissed someone before. Well, all it really took to get the job done right was the ability of one person, or at least he hoped so.

He knew that tongue was usually involved, but he had no idea how to do it or when. Michael's breath caught in his throat and he tried his hardest to exhale. He forgot how to breath when he mashed his lips with hers and slowly, unsure of his own actions, he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

She took it in and he assumed he was doing it right. Slowly, the tip of her tongue traced his and they were both locked into a lipped embrace. He felt his heart beat faster, his body warmed up, and he knew he felt her smile when her lips slowly moved against his. He knew he was doing it right, he felt it.

So maybe it wasn't so hard or terrifying then he had assumed at first. When he pulled away, he couldn't help but smile and her smiling face was met in return. He licked his lips still feeling the sweet taste of her in his mouth.

Her face was flushed and her lips were swollen, he had never seen her like that before, that beautiful. But then her gaze turned from his face and onto the face of a man who was sitting parked down the road. Michael looked at the same man she was looking at, and he recognized him.

"Do you know him?" Michael asked her as her face was frozen in panicked fear.

She started heaving, her breath loud and she was wheezing. Her breath sharp, her chest rose and fell quickly.

Though Michael knew that Molly was only having a panic attack, he still felt scared. "What's wrong?" he nearly screamed as he took her hands into his and tried to make her relax. The minutes past with her condition still hard to understand and a squad car of officers arrived.

"What is going on here?" Officer Lucky Spencer asked as he approached.

"I don't know, she just started having a panic attack," Michael explained.

"He," Molly chocked out. "I," she chocked out again.

"What are you trying to tell us," Lucky asked, his face was laced with concern and care, he was doing his job. Lucky kneeled beside the bench and concentrated on Molly. "What is it?"

"I. . . I think. . ." she wheezed out sob-like words that didn't want to come out.

Lucky glanced into her eyes but after realizing that she was looking someplace else, he followed her eyes.

Michael, too followed her eyes, though unlike Lucky, he knew that she was looking at.

"Are you trying to tell me something about the man in that car?" Lucky asked and Molly nodded softly.

"Is he the man who raped you?" Michael asked, his own voice unbelieving as he watched the answer unfold.

Molly nodded and wheezed out, "Yes."

They all watched in shock, all their eyes directed into the car, the face, the eyes of Lorenzo Alcazar.

---

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	15. The Height of Rain

**Chapter 15**

The wind rattled through her hair and shivered her bones. She wanted to hug herself in order to warm herself but Jason's arm wrapped around her waistline and suddenly she felt it rise a few degrees. Chemistry! That's what it was. And maybe the faster beat of her heart made blood circulate faster causing her body to warm up. Either way, she credited the warmth to science and not the emotions that started to stir inside of her. Her emotions, they were similar to 'like', 'affection', 'allure'. They were stronger however, the want, the need, the desire. She knew what it was and between the beat of her heart and the hormones that raced through her, she knew it was a mix of lust and love. She accepted lust, she wasn't sure she wanted love. She had loved once, but then her love died and she realized how soon she forgot about him, too soon. Maybe it wasn't love the first time around, maybe it was just a strong connection? Either way, she didn't want to feel love right now, not with this man. She had her own reasons for being careful of him, reasons that she couldn't admit to anyone, not even herself. Because admitting it to herself made her feel guilty and trashy and manipulative.

"How did you like my family?" he asked as he lead her to his car.

Sam turned back and looked at the door through which they had just left. Though it was closed and probably locked, the windows nearby all drawn and covered, she still knew the people of the house were looking at her. And then, a sudden movement! To her right! From the far corner of one window, behind the covered curtains, she saw one eye and hair, side of a face hiding, all that was exposed was curiosity.

Tracy Quartermain had paranoia about her family. She seemed to assume that every time someone knew stepped into the picture that they were up to no good. She also didn't like change, she wanted things to be the way they are, not better and not worse. Sam wouldn't have been surprised if the eyes that stared at her in private were those of Tracy, but they weren't. The eyes, hazel like warm whisky, belonged to Emily Quartermain.

"I liked them," she answered and turned her attention back to the car that awaited them. As the wind blew more, Sam snuggled against Jason's warm body and walked with their hips almost attached, their bodies almost hugging.

"You liked them? Nobody likes them."

"Why would you assume that? If at least one person likes another, that person is liked. Sure, that person isn't liked by many but he or she is still liked. Your family loves each other, they just seem to have a difficulty showing it."

"Oh, they love each other when they aren't trying to cheat each other out of a fortune."

She smiled at that statement. "I take it they're competitive?"

"Yeah, greedy and competitive."

"I bet that's how they relate to each other, how their bond grows or is broken."

Jason Morgan opened the car door for her and Sam crawled into the seat, once he had shut the door, she had put on her safety belt and checked her mirror for lipstick. When she wasn't satisfied with what she saw, she searched for some in her purse, only to come up empty. Oh well, she didn't need lipstick to survive. Sam closed her purse and tossed it to her feet.

"Which family member did you like the most?"

She thought for a moment but realized the answer came easier then she had expected. She didn't know any of them well but her judgements in character had brought two people clearly to mind. "I liked Emily and Tracy the most."

Jason turned and looked at her, his eyes sharp and startled. But as soon as that look of surprise spread onto his face, he wiped it away just as quickly. "I understand Emily, people like her," he said as he turned on the ignition and the heat. "Some think she's too much of a goody two shoes but there are people who like her. But Tracy? Are you sure? You sure you didn't get the name mixed up with anyone else?"

"Yes, Tracy," she said with a smile and looked out the window at the streets through which they drove. "I like her blunt honesty. She doesn't seem to care that what she said will hurt somebody or that she might be considered cruel or brazen, she does it anyway because she believes in what she sais."

"Brazen," Jason said as if turning that word over in his head, "that definitely describes Tracy."

"Yeah, but she also seems to have some insecurities, I think. It seems like she has this big fear that someone will step in and take members of her family away, so she always feels the need to attack the people her family members associate with."

"I have no trouble believing that," Jason said as he turned into another street. "She does seem to hate the girl that Dillon is dating, and she's always hated everyone I or Emily or anyone else in the family dated."

"Exact-." Her cell phone rang, interrupting her, "-ly." She grabbed her purse and pulled the phone out, glancing at the caller ID she recognized Glenda's number. "Sorry," she said to Jason, "I have to take this call." And with that, she flipped the phone open and put it to her ear. After talking on it, she shut it and looked at Jason. Her eyes were urgent and fearful, that same gaze reflected on him. "I have to go to the police station right away."

"What's wrong?"

"Molly, the girl who's been raped. They just arrested her rapist and he has a great chance of getting away because he's got money, power, and connections. I hate mafia kings for their criminal intentions." She dropped her phone into her purse and ran her hands through her face. "I know I sound silly talking about the mafia, that only exists in movies and TV, but. . . But they say the person who did this is a mob king."

Jason didn't respond, though by looking at him she knew the wheels in his head had been turning. What was he thinking? She wondered. After a long moment of silence and intensity that was as thick as fog, Sam decided to break the silence. Her voice was low when she said, "Just take me home so I could get my car."

"I'll drive you to the police station," he said without missing a beat.

"It's late and it might take hours in there. I wouldn't want to bother you with a ride back home."

For the first time since the mention of powerful organized crime he looked at her. "It's no problem, I won't be sleeping. I'll pick you up as soon as you call me."

And once again silence fell on them like a thick blanket. Sam looked at the man she thought she knew, but she realized she didn't know him at all.

---

At the police station, Sam had to ask for directions a hundred times before she finally arrived at the right interrogation room where she was met by the familiar faces of Molly, Glenda, and Officer Spencer. Inside the interrogation room behind the one way glass sat a man. Tall and charming, he looked like power in his truest form. The man was the rapist, the criminal, the mob king. She felt outraged at the bad workings of the law. If they would put people like that behind bars, they wouldn't be able to hurt little children!

"What happened?" Sam asked and realized she was breathless slightly.

"Miss Arnolds started having a panic attack in the park while she was watching Mr. Lorenzo Alcazar drive by."

"I didn't even knew that she'd sneaked out. I don't know why she did it. Poor Baby," Glenda sobbed.

Sam glanced at Molly, her eyes rimmed red from shed tears and terror that sprung up like a bad shadow and swallowed her life, her dreams, her aspirations.

"It's him, isn't it?" Molly asked Sam, uncertainty written in her eyes. "They want to make me remember. I don't want to remember."

Sam looked at the officer, her eyes darting into his soul as she wondered as to what she should do. "Can you please tell me exactly what happened?"

"I got a call that something was up with two teenagers in the part. The caller was a passerby and said the girl was shaking violently. He got the impression that something was wrong, panicked, and called the cops. When I arrived, Miss Arnolds was having a panic attack and she was staring straight at the car of Lorenzo Alcazar. When I asked her what was wrong, she confessed that he was the man who raped her."

Sam nodded and got herself a chair to sit on. When her eye level was the same as Molly's, she spoke softly, "Do you remember anything?"

She shook her head. "No."

Though Sam hated to ask the next question, she did anyway, "Then what makes you think that it was this man who attacked you?"

When Molly didn't answer, Lucky Spencer stepped in. "In the previous interview she did say her attacker had dark hair and eyes. Maybe she just reacted that way to a dark haired and eyed person."

Sam knew that was possible, anything like that was possible. Yet, she knew where the police was going with it and she didn't like it one bit. They were going to release the criminal because there wasn't enough evidence to indicate his guilt. Oh, but he was guilty! If there was only some way he could be proven guilty.

"Officer Spencer," Sam addressed him, "Have you tried to interrogate the suspect?"

"Yes."

"And what did he say?"

"That he didn't do it."

Sam tipped her head back and gave a frustrated laugh. She threw her hands at her sides and said, "Well of course he'd say he didn't do it. Don't all criminals say that?"

Lucky nodded. "But he also agreed to a DNA test."

Sam shook her head sadly. There was no way she could convince anyone that Lorenzo Alcazar was guilty, but maybe she could make Molly remember. She looked at Glenda and then at Officer Spencer. "Is it okay that I talk to Molly alone?"

"About what?" Glenda asked.

"I want to talk to her about the rape. Maybe she could remember what happened."

"If she hasn't remembered yet, I doubt she will," Lucky remarked.

"You're not the doctor here," Sam said bluntly and glared at him. "Now can I talk to her alone?"

Lucky looked down and thought for a moment and then walked to the door. "First, I want to talk to you, alone."

Sam stood up from her chair and walked outside where Lucky lead her to. When he closed the door behind her, he put his hands on his hips and leaned against the heavy door. Sam crossed her hands across her chest and stared him in the eyes. "What?"

"Why do you seem to be undermining my authority?" he asked.

"Why does it seem like you want to let the criminal go?" she countered.

"Dr. McCall, it was the suspect, not me, who initiated the DNA test. That right there indicates that he's innocent. And once the test comes back, if it indicates that he didn't do it, and I will have no other authority then to let him go."

"I know," she said sadly, "But the suspect has power and money, he could afford to fake the DNA test results that would indicate his innocence."

"Yes, he could. But there is nothing I can do about it," he said matter of factly.

Sam felt anger dwell inside of her. How could he do this. Sure, the law insisted on setting a criminal free if there is no evidence to hold him. But still, couldn't he work around it somehow. "Officer Spencer, I have worked with problematic children all my life. I know what rape can do, I know what drugs can do. I know how the mob affects the youth of today. I also know how painful it is for a victim to watch the predator walk away because the law can't do shit about it. This is the stuff you obviously don't know about." She knew what she said was mean and cruel, but she said it anyway.

Lucky gazed up at her, his eyes hard and unyielding. "My wife is a rape victim. My best friend and brother's ex-wife is also a rape victim. I know how rape can affect a person. I also had to arrest many drug addicts, I know how those affect people too. So if you want to verbally attack someone and say that they don't know how crime can affect them, then you chose the wrong person. I would love to see Lorenzo Alcazar and every other mobster in town get ass fucked while in a prison cell, but if I can't prove the person guilty, then the jury will find them innocent."

After hearing him confess about his wife and his brother's ex, Sam felt sorry for her comment and out-lash. "I'm sorry," she whispered while rubbing her forehead. "I'm sorry, I'm just really on edge and frustrated. What if this criminal fakes the DNA test and gets away with a crime? And what if I can do something to stop it?"

"And what can you possibly do?" Lucky asked, raising his hands in an empty gesture.

"I can talk to her. She could remember."

"Be honest with yourself, Dr. McCall, what are the chances of her all of the sudden remembering?"

She glanced down in hopelessness. "Less then seven percent."

"And what are her chances of remembering while under hypnoses?"

"Ninety percent. But I don't want to hypnotize her."

"Why not?"

"Because she could remember too much. Sure, she would remember who raped her, but she also could remember all the gory details of the rape. We could forget about it with the next case, but she would have to live with it for the rest of her life."

"Then you need to give up on it. Besides, maybe Lorenzo Alcazar didn't do it? After all, his mob doesn't normally rape young girls."

"Just give me a few minutes to talk to her. Please. Maybe I could get her to give me some piece of information, no matter how small."

Lucky thought for a moment, going against his gut instinct. But in the end, he gave her what she wanted. "Go talk to her, but I'll be outside listening in, and there will be a tape recorder recording everything. That's the deal, either you take it or you leave it."

"I'll take it," she said and walked into the room. Lucky followed, and after setting the recorder, he and Galma walked out, Sam and Molly remained in the room.

The silence was sickening to Sam, and she just wished she knew where to begin with her form of therapy. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess," Molly said in a whisper.

"What were you doing when you saw Lorenzo Alcazar, the man you identified as your rapist?"

"I was sitting in a park, talking to a friend, when I saw him."

"And how did you specifically know it was him." Sam hoped Molly would give her something good, something reliable.

But instead, the girl just shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I saw him and had a panic attack, so I figured it must be him. Maybe that was my body's way of warning me."

Damn! A panic attack was just that, an attack of unnecessary panic and nothing more. Lorenzo was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Unless, unless Molly said something else that would identify Lorenzo as the accurate suspect.

"Do you remember anything else about your rapist?"

She didn't say anything, but didn't shake her head either. Instead, the look in Molly's eyes was decisive, as if she were trying to decide between two things, like to tell or not to tell. That made Sam sure that Molly remembered something. So why wouldn't she share it?

"Can I ask you a question?" Molly asked tenderly with her voice suddenly a nervous quiver.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Am I a slut?"

The question took Sam aback. How could a sweet, innocent girl like Molly even assume that?

"It's just that, I recently was raped. It was the worst thing that could have happened to me. But lately there's this guy in school who makes me think that maybe men aren't that bad. It's like he makes the pain dull and numb for a while."

"That's good," Sam said excitedly.

"How can that be good?"

"You're healing. You're starting to look beyond what happened to you and you're starting to look at the future slightly. You're healing, and that's always a good thing." Sam smiled at her in a reassuring way. "So who's the guy? Can you tell me anything about him?"

Molly shrugged and gave an embarrassed smile. "He's just a guy I know. I don't want to talk about him, but he's different from all the other guy's I know. He's more broken, like me."

"You're not broken," Sam said softly. "And I doubt he's broken too. People don't become broken. They just become wiser. Those who have painful experiences grow up faster, and they are wiser then other people of their own age or other people with different experiences. Bad things don't break you, they teach you."

"And what are they teaching me?"

"How to cope, how to survive." Sam glanced at Molly and put her hand on top of the girl's. "You're a survivor, Molly. That guy could have killed you, or you simply could have let yourself die. You could have crawled under a rock and never told anyone what happened. Instead you came to me. Instead of pretending like it never happened, you live with the pain, but you destroy the memory. And now, on your own, you're healing and doing so beautifully. You're a survivor. And you're definitely not broken."

"Thanks," Molly said softly.

Sam cleared her throat for the painful part. "Molly, I know you remember something about your rapist. What is it?"

"It's something stupid."

"It could help identify him."

Molly closed her eyes and took a deep breath, slow and deep. She exhaled and tears flew out from her closed eye lids. "He. . . He kissed me on the forehead." She opened her green, liquid eyes and blinked rapidly until the tears were gone. "I just keep remembering that when he kissed me, he didn't stand on his toes, nor did he bend down. It's silly information."

"No, it's not," Sam said while shaking her head. "Now you gave us an accurate assumption of his height. Now we know that his lips are the same level that your forehead is."

"So it's helpful?" Molly asked.

"It's helpful."

"Can you ask the cops to let me go home? I don't want to be here anymore."

Sam nodded as she stood. "Neither do I." And she walked outside the door where Glenda and Officer Lucky Spencer stood.

Glenda gave Sam a quick glance and walked into the room where her daughter sat, terrified. And Sam looked at Lucky and the document he was holding in his hands. "What is that?"

"The results of the DNA test. He's not the rapist."

"He could afford to fake the results," Sam said louder then she intended to.

Lucky handed her a sheet of paper that indicated Lorenzo Alcazar's height, and Molly Arnold's height. Sam studied the paper with sadness in her heart. "Yeah, he could fake the DNA test," Lucky said, "But he can't fake his height. He was too tall to be the rapist."

"Couldn't you hold him on some other charges? Sam asked though she knew the answer.

"I wish I could. But Lorenzo Alcazar is innocent."

---

Sam couldn't help feeling useless and bruised. It was as if her soul was bruised severely by something she didn't know. It hurt to have to watch a known criminal go free simply because the police didn't have any evidence to hold him on. And when Jason picked her up from the police station, she's been ranting and raving about it all through the ride.

Jason pulled into her parking lot and parked the car, but he still left it running. "Why do you hate mobsters so much?" he asked her while keeping his eyes straight.

"How can you ask me that?" She turned to him as if to check his sanity. "Do you know how many mobsters are responsible for getting kids hooked on drugs? Or how many innocent people had to die because of a mob shooting taking place close by? Or how many people had to be blown up because the mob set bombs and a wrong person came upon them?" She turned from him and stared straight ahead. "I remember reading this article once in a newspaper about a mobster whose pregnant wife was blown up in a car bomb that was meant for him. I forgot the names but I think the woman's name was Lily or something like that. Anyway, an innocent woman and an unborn child had to die because her lover chose to be a criminal. It's sickening."

Jason didn't say anything. How could he, when he himself was a criminal. And as for the woman named Lily, she was Sonny's ex, and the woman whose death was always and forever on Sonny's soul. He could never forgive himself for putting her in danger. So how could Jason argue an defend the mob when what she said was all true? How could he defend the mob when Michael was turning out to be one of his father's own victims? One of Sonny's many operations was drug trafficking. And Michael was now an addict. Strange how karma worked.

Sam opened the car door and stepped out. "Thanks for the ride, Jason, and for the dinner. And thanks for listening to my ranting and raving." She smiled for the first time. "I need to get my sleep now, my sister is coming to see me tomorrow." With that, she gave him a soft kiss and walked away.

Jason still looked at her when she walked into her building and closed the door. Then he spoke. He spoke to her, though he knew she will not hear what he had to say. "Careful who you hate, baby. You might end up falling for the enemy, and I will not do a think to stop it."


	16. Arriving in the Rain

**Chapter 16**

She stood in the airport, her body vibrating with nerves and anticipation. She looked at the monitor that informed when and where a flight will land, what door the arrivals will be coming through. Sam tracked down Brenda's flight number and waited in anticipation as the flight inched nearer. She longed to see her sister, longed to have a blood relative with whom to talk to, relate to, even arguing was healthy and she needed someone to argue to. But she also wanted to be somebody's sounding board, to hear someone tell her about their problems and pains and just for her to advise that person without being a professional or asking for pay. She wanted to fill the role of a family member, of a sister.

She watched the other people around her and Sam knew that they waited there for similar reasons. After all, family wasn't all about blood relatives that just so happened to be people you always knew. Family was a support system and a friend you could never replace. Family was a friend who would never get jealous, family was a friend that would always want the best for you, and you would never have to doubt your family's love.

Sure, there were bad families out there. Mothers who killed their children in a psychotic rage, but even they convinced themselves that they killed out of love. Sam remembered when she had to provide a testimony in court about the insanity of a mother who shot her children. After evaluating her, Sam realized that the woman was a paranoid schizophrenic who believed that life in itself was too hard and too full of unhappiness, and so she send her kids to a premature heaven just to be sure that no other harm would get their way. The logic of that woman was sick, but it was a strange kind of logic.

Generally, family was a strange friend, but it was a friend with good intentions, even if the actions were hideous in opposition.

Sam walked over to a seat and sat down. She observed the people around her, the high energy of anxiety. She could feel these peoples urge to reunite, to hug and kiss and share happiness.

She looked at one woman in particular who was carrying a baby on her lap, and the woman's face lit up when she looked at the arrival monitors and realized that a plane had landed. Sam, herself, glanced at the monitor and realized that it wasn't the plane she was waiting for.

After a few minutes, the woman with the baby lit up again as she looked at the doors through which the arrivals came through and then when she saw him, she ran as he ran toward her. They locked in a lovers embrace with the baby sandwiched in the middle of them both. The man kissed the woman softly and then kissed the baby on the forehead. And as he took the baby from the woman's arms, he walked with her, sharing his experience of wherever he was coming from and what he did there.

It didn't take a rocket scientist or a shrink to know that the man and the woman were husband and wife. Sam saw the rings on them as they walked passed her and out through the door.

Then she looked at some other people who reunited with loved ones, people they haven't seen in a long time, and people they had missed. They all shared hugs and kisses and stories of their journeys. And that was when it hit Sam the hardest. The person she will be meeting will not know her. There will be no hugs and stories of fun times, there will be no tearful and fun-hearted reunions, there will only be the cold feeling of development. Because it will be the development of their relationship which will take them from strangers to family.

A half an hour passed do to the plane arriving late, before Sam noticed the monitor indicating that her sister's flight had just gone down.

She waited patiently and observed as other people reunited. Then, she glanced at the door and saw the lone woman standing with her expensive bags and her model wardrobe.

She was beautiful, with thick black hair and strong facial features. More then that, she looked familiar, like the vision in the mirror. In the photo in the magazine, Brenda looked a little like Sam herself, but now in reality, Sam could point out the similarities in the face itself.

The woman met Sam's eyes and their gazes locked, intercepted like the gazes of two wild animals who didn't know each other but decided that the other wouldn't make a good meal, and then decided to have an unspoken bond to coexist.

But then the look shifted as they both took a step toward each other and then another, and another.

"Wow," Brenda said when she finally reached Sam, "It's almost like looking in the mirror."

"Almost," Sam muttered and she finally smiled. "I'm sure I know what the DNA test will reveal."

"It doesn't take a doctor to tell we're related," Brenda commented as she herself let out a soft smile.

And in the hectic and crowded airport, they gave each other a soft hug.

---

Sam had dropped Brenda off at a hotel and when she had gotten a room, Brenda went with Sam to her apartment. Sam showed her sister around her small but homy place and then they both sat on the livingroom couch with cups of steaming hot chocolate in their hands. At first, they sat in silence just trying to think of a way to start a conversation. It seemed like all the important things were discussed on the phone when the arrangements for the trip were made and now they only had themselves to talk about.

"So," Sam started. For some reason, talking to complete strangers who had heavy loads in their hearts was easier for her then talking to Brenda. She knew that it was because with those people, she always knew a background of their problems, but here she knew nothing. "Why did you become a model?" she asked out of curiosity as well as an attempt in a conversation.

Brenda gazed at her and shrugged. "I don't know, I guess enough people had told me that I look good, so I decided to take their word for it and try a hand at modeling."

"Is it hard work?" Sam asked.

"The photo shoots and the runways aren't. But constantly having to be skinny is."She took a sip of her steamy drink and absorbed the aroma it produced. "How about you, why did you become a psychologist?"

"When I was in high school, there were a lot of druggies and gangsters. I wanted to know how to stop people from going down the wrong path and this came to mind." She took her own sip of the drink. "How did your first modeling gig go?"

"The photo shoot went fine. I took lots of great photos in great outfits. But then in the runway show, I got the heal of my shoe stuck on the hem of the dress I was wearing and that caused me to crash face first on the floor. To make matters worse, I tripped up another model and she fell too. But she managed to grab hold of another model and that model fell also." She paused and laughed at the memory. "In the end, it was like a domino effect. All the models fell down one by one. I was fired by the designed but then I took some more runway classes and got hired by another designer."

Sam laughed along with her. "That's a rather funny story."

"Yeah," Brenda said, "but now I get to model bras and panties so I can't trip on anything. Even though I have learned how to model ballroom gowns, I just don't like them." She took another sip of her drink. "It's strange, me being a model and all, but I really don't like dressing up." Brenda looked at Sam and sobered a little from her funny memory. "What was your first shrink job like?"

Sam sobered instantly and she felt the ribbons of sadness twirling around her heart, binding it to feel nothing but sadness. "I had to help a girl who was a victim of many things," she started, staring straight ahead, trying not to cry. "It was hard to help her since she was suicidal. Even one wrong word and she could kill herself. She got a little better, and then someone attacked her and abused her. She became worse then ever. She didn't want to talk about it no matter how hard I tried to push her. Then one night I was at home with a couple of friends. We were planning of going out to catch a movie and my phone rang." she paused, letting in a slow and deep breath in order to calm herself before she continued. "I wanted to pick it up but everyone told me not to. That we didn't have time and we would be late for the movie. As I was putting on my coat, I heard the answering machine get the call but no one talked, and then I heard the sound of someone hanging up so I shrugged it off and assumed that whatever it was mustn't have been important because if it was, then whoever would have left a message. When I got back from the movie, I got a call from the girl's brother saying that he found her dead." Sam stopped and wiped a tear from her eyes. She couldn't hold her composure anymore, she couldn't fight back the tears no matter how hard she tried. "She left a suicide note and in it, she addressed one thing to me. She said that she tried to call me but I didn't pick up. I could have helped her, I could have talked her out of it, but apparently an action movie was more important."

"There's no way you could have known," Brenda said softly.

Sam nodded. "That's what everyone kept telling me, including myself. But I just wish I could have done something, anything. I wish I would have picked up the phone and listened to her, talked to her."

"How did you get over it?" Brenda asked in astonishment. "I don't think I would ever get over something like that."

"I didn't get over it," she said, "but over time the pain numbs and only the guilt remains." She breathed heavily and wiped her eyes of tears again. "When I was in med school, I majored in child and developmental psychology, and I minored in criminal profiling and psychology. After that incident, I quit my joy and got a job in a mental hospital for the criminally insane."

"Was it easier?"

"Somewhat, yes. Working with kids, you got to see the innocence taken away from them, you got to love those kids and it always became personal when the children were in emotional pain. With criminal psychology, at least you don't feel guilty or like you didn't help them enough when they kill themselves, because you know that before they took their own life, they had taken somebody elses'. And in a way, it was like justice got served. The killers killed themselves, and the victims families could rest easier knowing that the predator was no longer able to hurt anyone."

Sam looked at the phone on the table and silently waited for it to ring though it never did. "After that tragedy, I never let a ringing phone go unanswered, even if I wanted to, even if I was too busy. I always remember that tragedy." She glanced at Brenda. "When I was in school for my degree, one of the main things they taught was how to work with professional and emotional detachment. I got all A's on the tests in that subject, but in life I always fail that course, over and over again."

"I would have no idea how to work with emotional detachment," Brenda commented as she blinked behind her own wave of emotion. Her sister's story was too heartbreaking not to feel it.

"Neither do I," Sam said. "Neither do I."

She was about to stand to make herself and Brenda another cup of hot chocolate when someone knocked on the door and she went to answer it.

Jason Morgan stood on the other side of the door with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and the grey t-shirt that peeked through it.

"Hey," Sam said in a way of greeting. "What are you doing here?" she hoped she didn't sound like she didn't want him there, because she did. But she was also curious and a little taken aback about his strange behavior the night before.

"I wanted to see you."

"Is the pizza here?" Brenda asked as she stood from the couch and started walking toward the door.

"Who's that?" Jason asked.

"No," Sam answered Brenda as she glanced at her and then back to Jason. "My sister."

"Her voice sounds familiar," Jason commented as he opened the door wider and walked in, staring straight at Brenda. "Brenda?"

"Jason?" Brenda's face registered surprise.

"You two know each other?" Sam asked, as surprised as they both were.

"He's my ex husband," Brenda stated.

"He's my boyfriend."

"It was a marriage of convenience," Jason chimed in. "And I can tell you all about it," he said as he looked at Sam.

Brenda nodded. "It was an interesting story. I hated Jason when we first met. . ."

And as the story continued, they all laughed over the events of the marriage.

---

Please Review.


	17. Dangerous Rain

Dear Readers, I'm sorry for taking so long for an update. Truth be told, I no longer watch GH and am no longer a fan of JaSam. I had given up on writing all my fan fictions but every time I was on my computer, I felt a little sad at not finishing a story that I originally considered great. Even though I'm no longer a GH fan, I decided to finish this story. I want to be able to complete it and show you, the readers, the ending of this story that many of you took the time to read. I'm following my original outline, not rushing through it, as I want to make this fic as great as it was intended to be. However, I haven't written in months, and writing is a skill that comes and goes. Since I haven't written anything in a while, I'm afraid my writing skills have gone down. You may feel like this chapter is rushed (even I feel like it's rushed) even though it took me many hours to write it. I guess I'm a little out of practice right now. My eyes hurt right now from staring at the computer screen and typing for so long and even though I proofread this chapter, it's possible I over looked many mistakes, so please ignore the spelling errors if you notice any. I'll go back and fix it later, I want to share this chapter now. So please, enjoy this chapter and sorry if it's not as great (quality wise) as the previous chapters. I need to brush up on my writing skills. But don't worry, the next chapter will be better, and then better, and before you know it, it will be great. Besides, this is where the story starts to really pick up! Enjoy it:)

**Chapter 17**

"So you never slept with him?" Brenda said in a tone of surprise. "I for sure assumed you had."

"You never slept with him either," Sam answered in defense.

"Yes, but what we had was scam marriage, you two have a real relationship."

Sam sat down in the chair in the waiting room and Brenda sat next to her. For hospital chairs, they were very comfortable. The maroon color added richness to it while the pale grey walls soothed and depressed altogether. She leaned against the back of the chair and breathed slowly while watching the nurses at the doctors station. "Our relationship is too new and too fresh for us to be getting physical."

Brenda also leaned back against her chair but her eyes darted to the ceiling. "You wanna know something funny? I haven't been in Port Charles in years, and this hospital hasn't changed much. It's like the same exact place as it was many years ago."

"I bet it is the same place," Sam said.

"Yeah, but some places change. They add a new layer of paint, change a light fixture. A plant dies and they get another. But there are no changes here. It makes me feel like life is standing still."

"It's a soothing feeling, isn't it?" Sam asked but her eyes were still on the nurses station. She looked at Emily Quartermain running around gossiping with another medical professional. A woman with short brown hair and a small petite frame.

"It is soothing."

"People don't like change," Sam evaluated. "They like what they are secure of." Then Sam finally looked at Brenda and smiled. "You know that tomorrow we will really find out if we are really related. Strange how when we were both born, there was no such thing as a DNA test, and now its one of the most popular identification analysis procedures."

"Times change."

"They sure do," Sam said and glanced back at the nurses station only to watch the young nurse who was talking to Emily Quartermain approaching them. In approaching closeness, Sam read the name on the woman's shirt and realized this lady was Nurse E. Spencer.

After a brief introduction to Miss Elizabeth Spencer, they were both lead into a room where an older black doctor met them. The lady looked more like a literature teacher then a doctor with her navy blue skirt and a light blue 1940's shirt peeked from the folds of her doctor's robe. Her hair was cut short and curled, and her glasses were perched low on her nose as she read a life.

The nice doctor took both of their blood for a DNA test and within minutes they were both released to go out of the room.

"That was quick," Brenda mentioned as she started to walk away from the door but seeing Sam frozen in her tracks slowed Brenda down. "What's wrong?"

Sam stood frozen as she watched Doctor Allen Quartermain as he looked at a needle in a way that an insane person would look at something that is actually crazier then that insane person. He looked at the needle like it was what it was, a device that could save a life, or end it.

---

Molly should have been a little scared as she knocked on the door and waited for an answer, but she wasn't. She wasn't invited to the Corrinthos house as a path toward her execution, but instead as a friend of a person as troubled as herself.

She knew that the Corrinthos were too rich to answer their own door, but she expected a maid or a butler to answer. The man with the suit and a gun in his hand only reminded her of whose house she was a guest at and she felt a quiver of intimidation run through her spine as she stepped out of the cold and into the entrance room of the grand estate.

The man extended his hand in a formal handshake as he said "I'm Milo and you must be Molly."

But Molly ignored his hand while physically taking a step back as she nodded. Truth was, dangerous looking men scared her and for the first time since being invited to Michael's home, she realized that she wasn't in the safest of surroundings. She wondered how Michael managed to cope with his home being a possible attack zone, or living with a father who killed people and had his own hired hitmen.

Milo was a tall, Italian looking guy with strong features and a relaxed exterior that she was sure was fake. No way can a man of his lifestyle be honestly relaxed.

As Milo moved aside, Molly took a shaky step through the threshold of the door and entered the gloomy foyer. The decor was dark wood all around, making the place look terribly depressive. As she had grown up in a place with light all around her, she wondered if Michael's depression problems were in any way associated with the surroundings he was in. Psychologically, it would be difficult to grow up in this type of dead.

Above her head, Molly heard a door close and a horse running wildly. Or so it sounded like a horse.

"Michael! Stop running!" came a woman's yell from another room and the horse slowed as Michael reached the stars and took two at a time to jog down.

"You came," he said breathlessly with no modesty. He was young, with his first encounter of a woman he lusted after. He didn't possess the calm tricks of seduction older men had learned to master. He was eager to express his emotions which to his young mind were stronger then anything he'd imagined.

"I was invited," she said with no emotion whatsoever but then cracked a shy smile and approached him.

"Come on, lets go up to my room." He took a hold of her arm and dragged her up. "It's much more fun up there then down here with these old guys." And with that, he shot Milo a look.

"Who're you calling old?" Milo shot back but Michael was already out of sight.

In his room, Michael showed Molly some of his video games and DVD's, and for the first time in a long time they both felt normal. Odd how most people didn't want to be normal, but the feeling of normality was soothing and sweet, even if it was fragile like glass.

Ever since her innocence was stolen, Molly felt like a kid again, like someone of her own age. For once, she didn't feel like she had to worry about everything, and she didn't have to fear.

For once, in a long time, the subtle emotions of her fluttering heart were silenced and relaxed while she sat next to the boy that made her pulse race.

But her fragile happiness shattered with a knock on the door.

"Come in," Michael said without noticing her sudden intake of breath or her sudden stillness as nerves raced along her back.

The door opened and a man came in. Dark, sexy, with dimples. And he was short! Closing her eyes, Molly notices the shadow of the man in the park, the man who pushed her to the ground. He was the same height! Though she couldn't see his face, she was sure he was the same height!

"Michael," the man said, oblivious to Molly's presence in the room. "I have to talk to you for a minute."

Michael stood and only glanced at Molly as he said "It will only take a minute" and walked out of the room with his father. He didn't see the panic racing in her eyes.

Alone, in a house of horrors, Molly shut her eyes as her breathing wheezed fearfully. Her palms grew damp, and cold sweat shot out of her body. Tears slid through her closed eyelids. Could it be, could it be that the man she was in allure with was raised by the monster that stole her youth?

---

Sam sat in the diner waiting for her food to be prepared as she sipped her coffee restlessly and gazed around the room. The door opened and a woman walked in, a woman Sam recognized on instant.

"Hello," Glenda said as she walked to the counter. "Nice to see you again," and after her greeting with Sam, she turned to the man at the counter and placed an order to go.

"How's it going?" Sam asked politely.

"Okay, I guess, though I'm very worried about Molly."

Sam didn't see any disturbing behavior in Molly, but then again, Molly started coming in to her office for very short periods of time since the incident. She claimed she wanted to spend her time at home, and Sam decided not to be paranoid and question the decision. Now her curiosity was peeked. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know if you've noticed," Glenda said worriedly. "Molly's afraid. She doesn't like to go out and when she does, she starts to have those panic attacks. She's always calm at home, but one step out and she's overtaken by fear. I'm worried." She shook her head. "It all started that. . ." She paused mournfully.

"I know," Sam said softly, reassuringly.

"I think it's a neighbor. You know, the man who. . ." she let the sentence trail.

"What makes you assume it's the neighbor who destroyed her?" Sam chose the term 'destroyed' as a substitute for the term her mother didn't dare to speak.

"He lived in the building, next door to us actually. Ever since the incident. . . He's disappeared."

"Disappeared how?" The man at the counter handed Sam her plate of food which she ignored as she listened to Glenda.

"He just. . . Vanished, I guess."

"You mean he moved out that quickly?"

Glenda shook her head. "I don't think he lived in that apartment. I think it was a place that his wife wouldn't know about. He used to come to it for a few hours, usually with some woman, and after a couple of hours he would leave. Ever since the incident he has left the apartment. I talked to the landlord and according to him the man is still paying for the place, just not visiting it."

"Do you know his name?" Sam asked.

Glenda nodded. I just found out today. I was actually considering should I or shouldn't I go to the police with this. I have no evidence that this man did it, but Molly doesn't even realize he was your neighbor. It's like she blocked his memory out, just as she did with the face of her . . ."

"Destroyer?"

"Yes, destroyer." Glenda inhaled deeply as her food was brought up to her all in boxes and bags. "I'm so worried I couldn't even cook tonight. Molly should be coming home from her friend's soon, she'll need dinner." She explained the food, leaving the unspoken explanation of only buying dinner for one. She was obviously too worried and torn up to eat.

Sam wanted to put the conversation back on track. "You mean she blocked him out just like she did her attacker?"

"Yes. But there's more. Every time we pass through his apartment door, she becomes all pale and starts to wheeze. I don't know how else to explain her panic attacks."

"I could explain the panic attacks," Sam said softly. "She has agoraphobia."

"What's that? Is it fatal? Is there medication for it?" Questions came pouring like water.

Sam smiled. "The good thing about agoraphobia is that it looks scarier then it is. It's not fatal, it's relatively easy to overcome, and it only looks scary." Reluctantly, she took a look at her food, glad that she ordered a salad. It wouldn't get cold. "Chances are, when she figures the identity of her attacker and accepts what happened, her agoraphobia will just disappear."

"But it's not fatal?"

"No, it's not fatal." Sam let that hang and sink in for a minute. "Now, can you tell me the name of the man you suspect?"

She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "He's famous here in town. . . It's Sonny Corrinthos."

---

He walked the cold streets. Normally, he waited until dark, but the need for a body to rub against his was too strong to wait. He lied to his family, telling them he went out for business relations. He went searching for release.

Anger spilled inside him as the streets were void of women. He walked through alleyways, searching for prostitutes. Where were they when he needed one?

He felt his dick stiffen with the need and he wanted to slip his hands inside his pants and get the job done, but a woman's mouth or ass, or anything else would be more appropriate. He had no respect for the women on the streets, and that's why he never went to his wife for things like this. No, his wife was for making love, the sluts were for pure sex. He wanted dangerous, dirty sex.

A prostitute appeared and he nearly fainted as he felt his goal approaching. He ran toward her and she put up a stopping hand.

Her hair was artificially blonde, her boobs plastic, and her face bruised. She looked hard, and her face had a no-nonsense expression.

"I'm not working tonight."

Frustration rose inside him along with rage. "What do you take? Fifty? A hundred? A thousand? I'm willing to pay."

She only considered it for a second. "I said I'm not working tonight. Or ever. I've retired."

He dropped his hands and his eyes were almost in tears. "Please."

"I said no," the woman spoke sternly.

He placed his hands on her arms and pushed her backwards, shaking her. "Please, I need you," he cried out.

"Take your hands off me!" the woman yelled.

"No."

She raised her arms and scratched at his face. He slapped her, hearing her skin tear open on the impact. Her lip split and blood poured over.

She clawed at him, bit him on the arm and fought like a wild cat as he countered her moves. The woman pulled out a gun and in the distance, he heard a police siren blaring, getting closer.

He looked at his hands, spilled over with blood, his and hers.

"Yeah bastard, you wanted to fuck! You wanted to fight! You didn't even care why I fucking didn't want to sell! Now enjoy the AIDS that I gave you!" The woman shouted and walked away as the man watched in horror.

The sound of sirens approached. His own repulsion at himself grew. As he looked at his hands, the danger he was capable off, the extent he would go to just for a fuck that meant nothing to him, he realized his addiction. He realized his mistake. He realized that his worst enemy was himself. Slumping against a wall, he cried like a little child as he realized his sex drive was an illness, and he needed help. He needed serious help. He had never though him capable of hitting a woman out of anger, but he did. Sonny Corrinthos realized he needed help. But he didn't even begin to grasp the trouble he was really in.


End file.
